


Fulfilling the Oath

by Lazy8



Series: Promises [2]
Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Torture, Mild Language, Post-Canon, Suicidal Thoughts, Tearjerker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-11
Updated: 2014-09-11
Packaged: 2018-02-17 01:21:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 30,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2291705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lazy8/pseuds/Lazy8
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the death of its strongest defender, the Earth is threatened again. Can two grieving allies work together to save it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

It was raining.

This was not a downpour, but a misty spring drizzle. The dampness in the air was palpable, and the gentle droplets moistened the ground just enough to bring the heady scent of earth strong into her nostrils.

On any other day, Pan would have found the weather refreshing.

She tried not to look at the raw wound in the earth, or the wooden box that lay inside, or the neatly carved block of stone. She tried not to think about the voice she would never hear again as she raised her own to murmur a few words, soft, unthinking, mechanical. She tried not to cry as she finished.

She wished it would rain harder.

Beside her, Uncle Goten bowed his head. He had been the first to speak, and she was the last. There would be no more speeches after this.

A sense of crushing finality fell over her as she stepped forward, letting the handful of dirt that she held trickle slowly into the hole. Uncle Goten was next, and then the others came forward, one by one.

Pan stepped back to give them space. Unable to bear the sight any longer, she looked away, weakness be damned, instead allowing her gaze to rove around the edge of the cemetery. As her eyes settled on a small stand of trees, she caught a flash of white.

_He came!_ Even though Pan did not think she was capable of happiness right now, would not be again for a very long time, she nevertheless felt some of the weight lift from her heart.

He stood perfectly still, his back against a tree, his green skin one with the backdrop of leaves. His black eyes were fixed on the scene from which she had just looked away. She could not read his expression.

Slowly, tentatively, Pan gave him the smallest of smiles. Ever so slightly, Piccolo nodded in return. For an instant, an understanding passed between them, an acknowledgement of shared loss.

Son Gohan would never be part of their lives again.


	2. What's Left

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pan begins the execution of her father's will, but one recipient in particular is proving difficult to locate...

Pan wasn't bothering to suppress her _ki_ , and Dende was sensitive enough that he should have noticed her presence while she was still a long way from the Lookout. Then again, Pan was so fast that she had thought nothing of flying around the world since she was four, so it came as no surprise that there was no one on the Lookout to greet her upon her arrival.

She was digging in her pocket and had just managed to locate what she was looking for among the folds of cloth when the Guardian emerged. Dende had opened his mouth in greeting, but before he could say anything she tossed the capsule and the Lookout was covered in a puff of smoke. Dende sweatdropped at the sight of the mountain of boxes that had appeared there; they covered a good half of the visible floor, and were stacked well over his head.

"You weren't… by any chance… intending to move up here, were you?"

Pan laughed. "Hoping to get a roommate who actually talks?" The laughter promptly died, however, to be replaced by a rather more somber expression. "No, Uncle Goten and I have been executing Dad's will. Turns out he left you the books in his library."

Dende's eyes bugged out as he again took in the enormous pile of boxes, now with the knowledge of what they contained. "All of them?" he asked, his mouth hanging open.

"Every last one." Pan smiled fondly at the sight of Dende's face as he struggled to take it in. "Dad was the only real scholar in the family – Uncle Goten and I took too much after Grandpa Goku. If he'd left his collection with either of us, they'd have just sat around and molded. And I know he knew how much you love to read."

Dende ran his hand gently down the side of the nearest box. "He did," he said quietly, and now there were tears in his eyes. "Gohan used to come up here a lot, you know, the first few years after the Cell Games, and we'd study together then. He didn't talk much about it, but he had nightmares for a long time after, and I think it calmed his nerves."

Pan frowned. Her father had never willingly talked about the Cell Games, and though she had eventually learned the gist of the story from Uncle Krillin and Uncle Yamcha, she also knew that he had been all too happy to let Grandpa Hercule take the credit. She waited for Dende to go on, but it seemed he had already said all he was willing to say on the matter.

"Well," she said, breaking the awkward silence, "there are a few more things I have to do tonight and in the morning, but if you need any help with these I can stop by tomorrow afternoon."

"Thank you, Pan." Dende smiled. "Mr. Popo can help, of course, but extra hands are always appreciated."

She nodded. "I'll be here." She looked around, her gaze sweeping the Lookout. "Is Piccolo here? I haven't been able to sense his _ki_."

Dende sighed. "No, he left early this morning. He's keeping his _ki_ suppressed right now, but I can still point you in the right direction."

"Thanks, I'd appreciate it."

She stood back slightly and watched with interest as Dende approached the edge of the Lookout, gripping his staff. For a short moment his eyes went unfocused, but then he was back – apparently the Guardian could tell what was happening below by means other than _ki_.

"He's over that way," Dende said, pointing, "beside his old waterfall. You remember where it is?"

"Roughly." With a nod of thanks, she prepared to jump off.

"Pan." She turned, legs still bent, to see that Dende was looking at her seriously. "He's grieving. He might not show it, but Gohan's death hit him hard. We all loved your father, but to Piccolo, he was the one person on the planet who made life worth living. So, whatever he may do or say, try to remember – it's not because of you."

Pan nodded. "I understand." She gave him a watery smile. "Thanks, Dende." Then, with a flash of her aura, she was gone.

* * *

Pan flew at low power this time. She wasn't tired – far from it – but she wanted to give herself some time to figure out how to approach Piccolo. He might have been her godfather, but their interactions during the course of her life had been few and far between, and she'd never gotten to know him nearly as well as she would have liked. She harbored no illusions of being able to comfort him, or to help him out of his grief; the most she could hope for was to avoid making things worse.

Her other motive was to avoid detection. From what she could gather Piccolo had been avoiding everyone lately, but she really did have important business with him. Unconsciously, her hand went to the front of her gi and lightly brushed the place over her inner breast pocket.

She was snapped out of her reverie as a flash of white caught her attention, making her slam to an abrupt halt, and Pan was forced to marvel at how good Piccolo was at hiding his _ki_. Even this close she could barely sense him, and his green skin and the dark cloth of his gi blended in so well with the surrounding woods that if he hadn't been wearing his cape, Pan might very well have missed him entirely.

He was, as Dende had said, next to the waterfall that had been his home prior to the Cell Games. He had his back turned to Pan and was hovering in the lotus position, but his _ki_ level gave him away: he was not actually meditating. Looking more carefully as she allowed herself to drift nearer, Pan noticed other things, most of which would have been invisible to the average person but which she could not fail to miss: the way his head hung too far forward on his neck; the slight curve of his spine in a slump that had never been there before; the occasional quick, not-quite-gasp that punctuated his otherwise even breathing… Dende had been right. Piccolo was in pain, and just looking at him was enough to make her hurt in turn.

_He really does miss Dad_ , she realized. _Possibly even more than me._ Quite suddenly, Pan felt as if she were intruding on something personal, something that no one was meant to see. She should let him grieve in private, she decided; she could seek him out another day, her business with him wasn't so urgent that it couldn't wait…

"Are you going to tell me what you came here for? Or do you just plan to hover there all night?"

Pan winced. She had forgotten just how good Piccolo's _ki_ sense was, not to mention his hearing. She couldn't be sure which had given her away.

He turned his head just enough to look at her with one eye, and she allowed herself to drift down to his level, feeling sheepish. He continued to pierce her with his stare as she dug into the inner pocket of her gi.

"I… well, that is, I have something for you."

Pan cursed inwardly. Here she was, approaching middle age, a martial arts master, daughter and granddaughter of the strongest fighters in the universe, reduced to stammering like a schoolgirl who'd been caught with her hand in the cookie jar. Had her father been there, he would have laughed and told her that Piccolo tended to have that effect on people.

Not speaking lest she embarrass herself further, Pan placed the capsule, the one she'd kept separate from all the others, in his outstretched hand. He examined it for a few minutes before looking back at her.

"What is this?"

"I've spent the last few days executing Dad's will," she explained. "He had that capsule set aside for you. I haven't opened it; I don't know what's inside."

Piccolo looked down at the tiny white capsule, which was completely dwarfed in his large hand, and Pan abruptly realized that he was holding the last remnant of her father's life that was left to him. She turned to leave; Piccolo had never been good at hellos or goodbyes, and she was fairly certain that he would want to be alone when he opened the capsule.

"Pan."

She halted in midair, surprised that Piccolo was choosing to prolong the conversation. "What did he leave you?"

She rubbed the back of her neck, a nervous gesture she'd inherited from her grandfather. "Well, there's my parents' house in the city, and everything in it that he hasn't already willed to anyone else…"

Piccolo continued to fix her with his unblinking onyx gaze, and Pan shut up. He couldn't have told her not to be stupid more effectively if he'd spoken the words aloud.

"I don't know," she confessed. "I haven't opened mine yet either." She flew off again without another word spoken, and this time, he let her go.


	3. The World Shatters Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What should have been a mundane task takes an unexpected turn, Piccolo is angry at everyone, and Pan finds herself forced into her father's shoes much sooner than she expected.

Pan had told Dende she would come in the afternoon because it was, in all honesty, the first stretch of time she was going to have free. Though the execution of her father's will was almost complete, the final part was also the one the proved to be the most tedious – the transfer of property and funds.

Her father had left nearly all of his money to Uncle Goten, for which Pan did not begrudge him in the least. She had gotten the house, after all, not to mention the considerable fortune she had already inherited from Grandpa Hercule. Not to mention she knew all too well that, like her, Uncle Goten would have happily sacrificed every last zenni just to have her father back in the land of the living.

Her uncle no longer had the strength to fly, so Pan drove him to Satan City in an aircar. She also accompanied him into the massive government building, placing her hand lightly over his while the lawyer explained what they would have to do to finalize the will. The experience was very painful for her, but she couldn't let Uncle Goten face it alone, especially not after he'd been widowed a mere two years ago. So she sat beside him as he filled out the paperwork, occasionally helping him out even though she was in the process of working through her own massive pile.

It seemed as if the day would never end. Every time they had worked their way through one stack of papers and Pan thought they were finally finished, some lawyer or bureaucrat would bring in another mountain that needed to be read and signed. At long last, however, the last of the papers were signed and sealed, the last of the taxes were paid, the house was officially hers, the money was officially Uncle Goten's, Pan's hand ached from all of the unaccustomed writing, and both of their stomachs were growling audibly.

Pan didn't even look at the time as they emerged, blinking, into the sunlight. Instead, after she had helped Uncle Goten into the aircar, she drove straight to the best restaurant in the city, where she ordered food for both of them – her treat. Hungry and exhausted, they ended up consuming a dozen full-course meals – each.

At some point during their combination lunch/dinner Uncle Goten smiled and started to tell her some story about a tournament that he, her father, and Grandpa Goku had entered when he was still a child, and how they had baffled the workers with the sheer amount of food they had managed to consume between matches. Pan gave a watery chuckle; she well remembered later tournaments, her own eating matches with Uncle Goten and Uncle Trunks, and her mother and grandmother's constant complaints about just how much it cost to feed a family of Saiyans.

They continued to reminisce all the way back to Mount Paozu, Uncle Goten now telling a story about the first time he had started training with his brother. By the time they were in the house, he had moved on to another tale of their childhood adventures.

It wasn't until they had spent an additional two hours trading their favorite Gohan stories that Pan even remembered her promise to Dende. Bidding a hasty farewell to her uncle, she rushed outside only to see that the sun was long past set, and only a few streaks of light remained on the horizon to mark its passing.

_Oh no_ , she thought, leaping into the air. _I said I'd come this afternoon, and I'm at least three hours late. Oh, I hope Dende will understand, he said Mr. Popo would help him, maybe I can still get up there in time to do something useful—_

Her thoughts screeched to a halt as she reached the top of the Lookout. She let out a gasp as she laid eyes on the Guardian's home, only to see that it had been completely torn apart. A good number of the normally pristine white tiles were shattered to powder, and many more bore scorch marks. More than half of the trees had been uprooted and thrown about as if by a high wind. The pile of boxes she had brought the day before was in toppled disarray and several of the crates were ripped open, whether deliberately or as a mere casualty of the rest of the carnage it was impossible to tell. Those books that had fallen out were damaged beyond repair, their pages ripped out and scattered across the tiles, their spines broken.

All of the destruction was pushed from her mind, however, when she caught sight of the splashes of blood – purple blood – spattered here and there over the white tiles. Pan felt an icy fear grip her heart and squeeze with bony hands.

"Dende?" she shouted, picking her way over the rubble and toward the sanctuary. "Piccolo? DENDE?"

A set of fingers closed around her wrist, halting her in her steps. "What the _hell_ do you think you're doing?"

Many women would have either let out a piercing scream or fainted on the spot – but Pan was not most women. Years of training by her uncle and grandfather kicking in, she twisted her wrist in her captor's grip as she turned, throwing a punch with her free hand—

—only to have her fist caught in a very familiar, four-fingered hand. " _P-Piccolo?_ " she stammered, pulling away. "You startled me…"

"That's because I, unlike you, am suppressing my _ki_ ," he snarled, though quietly, "so that I, unlike you, am not advertising my presence here to the entire planet." _Never_ had she seen Piccolo this angry, and this was the first time in her life that his ire had been directed at her.

"Oh. S-sorry." In spite of her continued worry for Dende, Pan felt her face growing hot. She began to lower her _ki_.

"Don't bother," Piccolo snapped, stalking past her. "Anyone with any _ki_ sense or hearing at all already knows you're here. Just don't blow my cover as well, and we _might_ still have the element of surprise if whoever is responsible for _this_ —" he swept his arm in a wide circle that encompassed the damaged Lookout, "—is still around."

His words stung – not least because she knew he was right. She had nearly walked into a potential ambush without thinking at all – she was a strong fighter, but even a Saiyan could be overcome by a much weaker opponent if caught off-guard.

Moving as quietly as she could, she followed Piccolo's lead and accompanied him into the unnaturally dark and quiet sanctuary. At the entrance to each new room he halted for a few seconds and closed his eyes, and Pan, seeing the slight twitch of his ears, deduced that he was using his sensitive hearing to listen for signs of intruders, trusting her to watch his back while he focused – which she did. Though she didn't know for sure, she thought that if anyone living was present he would be able to pick up the sounds of their breathing, possibly even their heartbeats as well.

As they moved deeper into the sanctuary, Pan saw that there was a more-or-less clearly defined trail, consisting of drops of blood, leading from the inside out. Piccolo, judging from the narrowing of his eyes, had noticed it as well. Though there were no particularly large puddles the drops were numerous, and Pan swallowed as she tried and failed to do the math to add up how much blood Dende must have lost, how badly he might have been hurt.

It wasn't until they reached the library that they got any further indication of what had happened. Piccolo took even more care than usual in navigating this room, most likely because of the numerous potential avenues of ambush provided by the bookshelves. As they passed one particular aisle, however, something caught Pan's eye.

The trail of blood led directly in between these shelves, and there was a particularly large pool of it roughly halfway down the aisle. The Guardian's staff lay inert on the floor, in addition to several books. One of these lay open, and on the inside cover in her father's neat script was written the name _Son Gohan_.

Pan's hand went to her mouth in horror as Piccolo stared, expressionless. Dende must have been in the process of shelving the books she'd brought him when the intruder – or intruders – had caught him. Had they snuck up behind him? Or had they been able to overpower him without even needing the element of surprise?

They continued their careful exploration of the rest of the Lookout, but it seemed as if only the rooms along the blood trail had been disturbed. Finally, after what seemed like ages, Piccolo declared their investigation finished.

"There's no one here," he said. "Whoever is responsible for this is long gone."

Pan breathed a sigh of disappointment. The trail had gone cold, and their chances of catching the culprit had just decreased dramatically. She didn't know how Piccolo knew, but she trusted his judgment. He was, after all, fused with the former Guardian, and had lived here since her father was a child; he probably knew the layout of the place inside and out.

They re-emerged into the open air. Looking at the positions of the stars, Pan realized with a start that the night was half-over. That already made several hours in which Dende had needed their help, and they had been unable to give it…

"I should have been here," she whispered, sinking down onto the tile and wrapping her arms around her knees. "I promised him I'd come this afternoon, to help him move those books. I could have helped him, if only I'd come when I said I would…"

Hearing no answer, she turned to look at Piccolo. He had his eyes fixed on the ground and was clenching his fists at his sides, so hard that blood dripped from his palms to join Dende's on the tile. Pan could easily guess what he was thinking: _No,_ I _should have been here. I'm the one who lives up here. If only I'd come back sooner…_

She opened her mouth, wanting to reassure him that what had happened wasn't his fault, but then closed it again as she realized the hypocrisy of that statement. Instead, she went back to staring at the stars. "Whatever could have happened to him?" she asked.

"I don't know any more than you."

"How… how did you know to come back up here? You did come back because of what happened, right?"

Piccolo let out a breath, and moved to stand beside her. "Namekians are natural telepaths. I was still in the wilderness when Dende called out to me. He managed only to call for help before our contact was broken, most likely because he lost consciousness."

Pan looked up at him; he had his arms crossed, and was glaring out over the edge of the Lookout. "Couldn't you—"

"I've been trying for the past several hours," Piccolo answered before she could even finish the question. "He is either unconscious, or too far away, or somehow being prevented from using his telepathy."

"Could…" Pan took a deep, shuddering breath, not even wanting to admit the possibility. "Could he be dead?" First her father, then Dende…

Piccolo, however, shook his head. "I don't think so. If the objective had been to kill him, they would simply have done so and left the body. Instead, they chose to wound him, render him unconscious, and remove him from the Lookout. Whatever it is they want with Dende, they want him alive."

"But what could they possibly want with _Dende?_ " Pan asked desperately. "He's not a fighter, he's never done anyone any harm…"

"Could be anything. Maybe it's because the Guardian of Earth, or the creator of the Dragon Balls. They might have wanted to make use of his healing powers. Or maybe they just wanted a Namekian, and I was deemed too troublesome to get hold of." Piccolo's voice was filled with self-loathing as he considered the possibility. "We really have no way of knowing without more information."

"So what do we do now?" Pan asked, getting up and brushing the white powder of shattered tiles from the seat of her pants.

"What _you_ are going to do is go home and get some sleep."

"Piccolo, I'm not just going to sleep now! Dende—"

"You're not going to be able to think clearly or make sound judgments if you're exhausted," he interrupted. "I don't require sleep; I'll do what I can over the rest of the night."

He was right, of course. Again. Just how was it that Piccolo always managed to make her feel like she was four years old all over again?

"All right. Just promise me you'll come get me as soon as you find anything out." Looking up, she forced herself to lock eyes with him. "Dende is my friend too," she said softly. "I'm going to do whatever it takes to get him back."

To her surprise, Piccolo didn't argue. "Of course," he said. "Now go home. The sooner you've rested, the sooner we can start."

"Right. I'll see you in the morning." Without further ado, she leaped off the edge of the Lookout and into the night.


	4. New Friends, Old Foes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Piccolo and Pan put together the pieces with the help of King Kai, they learn all too quickly how much trouble they're really in.

Piccolo waited until he could no longer feel Pan's _ki_ before stepping off the edge of the Lookout and allowing himself to drift slowly downward in a controlled fall. When he reached Korin's Tower, the master was already standing outside, staff in hand.

"Ah, Piccolo," the white cat said. "I was wondering how long it would be before someone stopped by. Here about Dende?"

"Good, I don't have to waste time explaining. What do you know?"

Korin stroked his whiskers. "Not much more than you do, I'm afraid. I didn't see anyone but you and Pan go up there today, so they must have approached from above. Oh, and I couldn't detect any _ki_ signature either."

Piccolo growled. "So we're right back where we started."

"Well, the lack of _ki_ does tell us something."

"It tells us nothing! Dende isn't a fighter, never has been. Armed _humans_ could have taken him without too much trouble."

"Ah ah ah, you're forgetting something." Korin waggled his finger obnoxiously.

"What?" Piccolo snapped. He was in no mood for Korin's games.

"Popo fought."

Piccolo felt his jaw drop, and he hovered there for a moment with his mouth open as he absorbed Korin's words. The cat had an insufferably smug look on his face.

Suddenly, a lot of things that hadn't quite seemed to add up before now made sense. Upon their arrival the Lookout had been torn apart as if by a great battle – even though the culprits had not seemed interested in anything but Dende, and all the evidence was that they had managed to subdue him with no trouble at all. Except Dende hadn't been alone: Popo had been guarding the Guardian as long as one had been present on the Earth; he would have done anything he could to protect his master. Piccolo had only a vague understanding of where Popo's powers came from; Kami had asked once, and the djinn had explained that he used some sort of magic rather than _ki_. What he _did_ understand was that Popo's side of the battle would not have registered even with fighters who were _ki_ sensitive. That left only the kidnappers, and if they could take on Popo without any detectable output of _ki_ …

"Androids," Piccolo snarled.

"Most likely," Korin said. "Ah well, I've given you a place to start." He turned his back on Piccolo, melting into the shadows of the Tower. "I assume you're here for something else as well. I'll be right back, you can come in if you want."

"I'll wait out here."

"Suit yourself."

Korin's light footsteps retreated into the Tower, so quietly that even Piccolo almost couldn't hear him moving around. Piccolo continued to hover. Presently the cat returned, leather pouch in hand.

"I've only got a few right now," Korin said, tossing the pouch; Piccolo caught it deftly. "I picked all the ripe ones I could find, but… well, it's the off-season, and this dry weather we've been having hasn't exactly helped."

Piccolo opened the bag. There were exactly four senzu.

"Just _try_ to use them sparingly this time. With Dende gone, you're going to have to heal the old-fashioned way if those run out."

Piccolo would say this much for Korin: notorious prankster he might have been, but at least he knew when and how to be serious. Nodding his thanks, he took off into the night.

* * *

He made himself wait until mid-morning to go and get Pan. Impatient though he was, he could tell that she had been fatigued both physically and spiritually the night before, and an exhausted partner was a dangerous one. If they were going to be fighting any battles – and, judging from past experience, it was pretty much inevitable that they were – he wanted her to be at full strength.

So he spent the rest of the night and the first half of the morning in meditation. For him the act was usually a means of honing his technique and focusing his _ki_ , but this time he used it to go over everything he had learned the night before. Every piece of information was carefully filed away, every trail of evidence traced back to every potential conclusion. The problem was that there were just too many possibilities. They needed more information.

Several more times he tried to contact Dende, again with no luck. Piccolo would never admit it out loud, but an intense worry was now gnawing away at his mind; he knew that the younger Namekian would have answered him if able. That meant he was either still unconscious or too far away to contact, in which case he was probably in another solar system entirely and they would likely never find him.

Or maybe he really was dead. True, he had told Pan that the possibility was unlikely, but even though that conclusion was logically sound he had a hard time convincing his heart not to fear the worst. Even worse was the knowledge that there was no way to check. The Dragon Balls were inert at the moment; they had all seen the sky go black three months ago when someone else had summoned Shenron. At the time, no one had thought anything of it; it would have been silly to assume that they were the only ones capable of collecting the balls, and besides, everyone with connections to the original Z-fighters had all been preoccupied with Gohan's illness.

Now, however, that black sky was beginning to take on a meaning that was much more sinister. Thanks to the unknown summoner, it would be another nine months before they would even be able to check whether the balls were still active, much less use them to help Dende.

Could Shenron's last appearance have something to do with the events of last night? They couldn't know for sure without knowing the wish – but Piccolo filed away that piece of information as well.

Finally, he deemed it late enough to go and collect Pan. He took off from his position atop the battered remains of the Lookout – where he had stayed the night just in case he was able to glean more information – and was at her house in the city within minutes.

When he arrived and levitated up to the window of her room, ignoring the stares he got from passerby, he was glad he had waited. Pan had not bothered to close the curtains, and Piccolo could see where she lay sprawled on the bed with the sheets in a twisted mess around her, the black mass of her hair in such tangled disarray it was a wonder it hadn't wrapped around her throat and strangled her in the middle of the night. Piccolo recognized that look: Gohan had looked exactly like that on far too many mornings after the Cell Games, after far too many nights spent tossing and turning in the throes of some nightmare. Piccolo had never told him, but for the first few months he had spent his nights in meditation outside of Gohan's window, where he had used the link between their minds to try and gently soothe the boy into a deeper, more restful sleep. He only wished he could have done more.

Pan, at least, was sleeping peacefully now, but the time for sleeping was over. Raising his fist, Piccolo rapped sharply on the glass.

Pan merely rolled over with a groan. Irritated, Piccolo rapped again. If she didn't get up this time, he might just throw a _ki_ blast or two through the window and see if that did it.

Thankfully, that didn't turn out to be necessary. Pan sat up slowly, rubbing her eyes – and then bolted out of bed as soon as she saw who was at the window.

"Piccolo!" she exclaimed as she threw open the window. "Haven't you ever heard of a doorbell?"

"This was faster."

"Fine, just… come in— _through the front door!_ I'm going to get dressed, make yourself at home." And with that the window slammed shut, followed in short order by the curtains.

_Does she even remember how urgent the situation is?_ Piccolo wondered, but his fears were assuaged when she clomped down the stairs a mere five minutes later clad in a bright orange replica of her grandfather's gi, hastily pulling her hair into its usual strict bun. She was all business, now.

"So what do you know?" she asked without preamble as she set the rice on to boil.

Piccolo sat across from her at the table, filling her in on everything he had learned from Korin as she demolished bowl after bowl of rice. He pointedly did not look at her as she ate; he had never gotten used to Saiyan appetites and at this rate he didn't think he ever would.

"So you think the attacker might have been an android?" she asked around a mouthful of food.

"Do me a favor and swallow before you speak. That's completely disgusting. And yes, that is the most likely possibility."

"So what do you think happened to Mr. Popo?" Thankfully, she remembered to swallow this time. "We didn't find his body up there, so do you think that it's possible…?"

"I don't know, but for the time being we should assume that he is dead. Popo would have given his life before he would allow the Guardian to come to harm. Remember, he is not a creature of this world. One such as him might not even leave a body upon death."

"Oh." Pan looked dejected.

Piccolo debated with himself for a few seconds – after all, he didn't even know if it was a real lead – but then decided there could be no harm in telling her his theory about the Dragon Balls.

"Hmmm," she mused when he had finished, serving herself yet another bowl of rice (didn't she ever stop?), "you're right, it does seem just a bit too odd to be a coincidence. Is there any way of finding out what the wishes were?"

"Not without Dende or Shenron, no." Piccolo gritted his teeth. They were just going in circles!

_Actually, I might be able to help you there._

Pan jumped so hard she nearly upset the table; Piccolo, who had a bit more experience in such things, managed to restrain his reaction to jerking his head upward. "King Kai," he said, out loud for Pan's benefit. "You had better be calling us to tell us something useful."

"Did you see what happened to Dende?" Pan asked hastily, before King Kai could give an offended response.

_No, I'm afraid my attention was elsewhere at the time._

Pan's face fell. _So this is what counts for omniscience these days_ , Piccolo thought, disappointed.

_Hey! I heard that!_

"Just tell us what you've got to say," Piccolo snapped, "or get out of our heads! You're wasting our time!"

_Fine, if you're going to be that way…_ Piccolo heard a sound like a huff in his mind. _Anyway, I_ did _see the last two wishes that were made to the dragon._

"And…?" Pan asked, only the slight fidgeting of her hands giving away her anticipation.

_Well, the first wish was someone asking for his father to be given a body even more powerful than that of his finest creation._

"…body…?" There was practically a question mark hovering over Pan's head.

_Hey, don't ask me, I don't grant the wishes. I'm just repeating what I heard._

Piccolo pinched the bridge of his nose. "What was the second wish?"

_Well, that was from the guy who got wished back, or whose body got wished back… whatever. His wish was for his laboratory to be restored to full working order._

Pan still looked confused, but an icy chill was slowly beginning to make its way up Piccolo's spine. The new information might have been mere coincidence, but every one of his instincts was screaming at him that something was horribly, horribly wrong.

"Kai!" he said urgently. "This man – the one who was wished back – can you tell us who he was?"

_No idea, but I can tell you what he looked like. First he was just a little chip, small enough to fit in your hand._ Piccolo's heart started to beat faster. _Then when he got his body back he was an old man, real ugly too, not much of an improvement if you ask me._ He was now clenching and unclenching his fist in agitation. _Really long white hair. Ice blue eyes._

"No…" Piccolo pushed out from the table, so abruptly that his chair clattered to the floor. "No, it can't be…"

"Piccolo?" Pan was now standing as well. "What's wrong? Who is it?"

"Dr. Gero."


	5. Failure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Piccolo and Pan make their first attempt on Gero's fortress. It goes badly for both of them.

Piccolo snarled. Dr. Gero – the same Dr. Gero who'd taken 17 and 18's humanity, who'd nearly killed him outright, whose creation had wiped out thousands and put Gohan, at the age of eleven, through a hell that would have broken many an adult – and now he was back, free to wreak havoc on the Earth again… Kami only knew what he was doing to Dende, or had already done…

Pan looked nearly as shocked as he felt. She had not had to live through the terror of Gero's creations (thank all the Kais), so the description of his appearance was lost on her, but she certainly recognized the name.

"Just tell me one thing – is the lab in the same location as before?"

_Should be. Shenron wouldn't have moved it unless he specifically asked._

Good. That was one thing in their favor, at least; they wouldn't have to hunt him down in a completely new location.

_So, is there anything else you want from me before I sign off?_

"Is there anything else you know?"

_There are a lot of things I know_ , King Kai quipped. _Not about this, though_ , he hastily added, hearing Piccolo's snarl. _I've told you everything._

"Um… King Kai?" Pan was looking vaguely up at the ceiling, her hands fidgeting nervously with the tablecloth.

_Yes?_

"You… live in Otherworld, right?" She was wearing an expression of tentative hope that Piccolo just _knew_ was about to be crushed.

_Sure do! I'm even dead right now!_ King Kai's hearty laughter resounded in their heads.

"Could you… that is, could I talk to my father?"

Piccolo tried desperately to quash the hope that suddenly began to flutter in his own chest. To talk to Gohan again… But then the silence stretched on for just a little too long, and when King Kai spoke next his voice was uncharacteristically somber.

_Sorry, no can do._ Pan's face fell, and Piccolo felt his shoulders slump under his weighted gear. _There are rules up here. Once you're dead for good, no conversations with the living allowed except under very special circumstances._

"Oh."

_I'm sorry, I really am. But—_ his voice brightened again, and Piccolo could almost see him standing there with that ridiculous grin, holding up one finger, _—if there's anything you'd like to say to him, I'd be happy to pass it on._

Pan nodded. She was silent for a few minutes, before looking back up at the ceiling. "Tell him it's been hard and that we miss him, but Uncle Goten and I are doing fine."

_Will do. Piccolo?_

A message for Gohan… Suddenly, Piccolo could not think what to say – or rather, there were so many things he needed to say, should have said a long time ago, if only he could find the words.

He was silent for so long that King Kai cleared his throat reproachfully once or twice. Finally, though, Piccolo shook himself, switching to telepathic speech.

_Tell him… tell him "right back at you, kid." He'll know what it means._

Someday, he would see Gohan again, and when that time came he _would_ have words of his own for everything that needed to be said. But for now, that would have to do.

* * *

They got moving fairly quickly after King Kai broke contact. Before they left, Piccolo handed two of his senzu beans to Pan.

"Take these," he said, conjuring a leather pouch identical to his own. "I want us both to have a supply if we get separated for some reason."

"Right." She tied the pouch to her belt. "Is there anything else you think we'll need?"

"Luck, and lots of it." He turned to go.

"Um, Piccolo? Wait for me just a minute, okay?"

"What _now?_ " Piccolo had never been known for his patience.

"I'll be just a second, I promise!" With that, she disappeared back into the house.

So Piccolo stood awkwardly outside the front door, glowering at any passerby who gave him weird looks. Most of them merely gulped and moved on; it had, after all, been several generations since he had tried to destroy the world as the Demon King, and any who had witnessed those events were now long dead. Those people who saw him now were merely shying away because of his strange appearance; there was no longer any reason for anyone to run screaming at the mere sight of him.

It all made Piccolo feel incredibly old.

Thankfully, he did not have to endure the stares for long. True to her word, Pan returned only a few minutes later, carrying what looked like a small briefcase and strapping a short red pole to her back. It looked familiar, but only vaguely so, and after a few seconds Piccolo realized that he recognized it from his father's memories rather than his own.

" _Now_ are you ready?"

"Yeah, sorry about that." Pan rubbed the back of her head sheepishly as they took to the air. "I stopped by Capsule Corp. before I went home last night and packed some stuff I thought might come in handy. You know, just in case we end up needing it." Abruptly, her expression sobered. "I also have friends there, and I needed to let them know what was going on."

"Hmph. Could none of them have helped?"

Pan shook her head. "No more than they already have." She let out a sigh. "None of them are fighters. I got all the supplies I needed, but I couldn't ask for anything more than that."

"What about Android 18?"

She bit her lip. "Her great-grandson says she's in the middle of an upgrade. He's trying to speed it up, but he says he can't stop it midway without endangering her life, and even if he accelerates the process it might be a week or more before she's finished. We can't wait that long."

Piccolo voiced his agreement through his silence. Of all the curses of bad timing that could have befallen them, it would have to be the absence of one of the only strong fighters left on the planet…

"So where are we going, anyway?"

"Gero's lab is north of here, up in the mountains. Be sure to keep your _ki_ low."

Pan frowned at him. "Can androids even sense _ki_?"

"Cell could."

She paled visibly. "Right." He felt an immediate drop in her _ki_ output; good. She was learning.

* * *

"So tell me about this Dr. Gero." Pan had heard occasional stories from the older Z-fighters, and they had all spoken the name with varying degrees of fear and contempt. "I think I should know everything that's relevant."

Beside her, Piccolo grunted. "I think that you're right." He then proceeded to tell her what he knew – not stories, she'd already heard those – but the nature and abilities of the creations that had come out of that lab, starting with the camera that had apparently been following her grandfather ever since he was a boy. He told her of the origins of Androids 17 and 18, of Cell's hybrid construction, of the computer that had been programmed to carry out the doctor's plans long after he was dead. He also gave her a stern warning that if she met an android with red eyelets in the palms of its hands, she should refrain from throwing _ki_ blasts and avoid physical contact at all costs.

"And why is that?" she asked.

Piccolo grimaced. "Because that means it's the type of android that can absorb energy. It will suck your life force out through your mouth if given half a chance."

Pan's stomach started doing flip-flops. She did not have to ask: Piccolo had found this out firsthand. "Is there anything else I should watch out for?"

"Just keep in mind: you can't rely on your _ki_ -sense. Most of the androids we've dealt with have had no _ki_ whatsoever, which will make it very easy for them to sneak up on us. We'll need to take care to watch each other's backs."

"Right."

There were a few minutes of silence. Then:

"Now, there's something I need you to tell me."

Pan turned to him as he spoke and realized with a start that he was actually looking at her, really looking, his black eyes appraising and even more solemn than usual. "What is it?" she asked.

"Have you ever been in a real battle before?"

She opened her mouth, but Piccolo cut her off before she could answer. "I don't mean tournaments," he said, still with that deadly serious demeanor, "or friendly sparring matches. I'm referring to a situation where lives depend on the outcome, with no rules except for victory of the strongest."

Wordlessly, Pan shook her head.

"That's what I thought." For a moment, Piccolo was silent. "Your father failed his first battle," he continued, ignoring Pan's look of surprise, "in spite of the best training I could give him. That failure cost lives." He shook his head. "The blame lies with me, for placing the fate of the world in the hands of an untried child. I do not intend to repeat that mistake."

"I'm not a child," Pan said firmly. She looked at him intently, matching him stare for stare. "And I'm doing this of my own free will."

Piccolo was the first to drop his gaze.

* * *

The air grew steadily colder as they made their way north. It wasn't long before Pan could see her breath, and soon she began to shiver violently; she was unused to northern climes. Piccolo, who did not seem to be affected, threw her a look that might have been disgust.

_How about you try being human for a while, Mr. I-Don't-Feel-Temperature_ , she thought in annoyance.

After a few more minutes, Piccolo came to a halt in midair. "A-a-are w-we th-th-there yet?" Pan asked through chattering teeth.

"No. But you're going to be completely useless if you keep shaking like that." He pointed his hand at her, palm out. "Now stay still."

Pan opened her mouth angrily as the cold and Piccolo's brusque manner finally began to get the better of her, but before she could voice a retort a beam of white light shot from his hand and enveloped her. Next thing she knew a soft, heavy cloak was settled around her shoulders.

"Thanks," she muttered, pulling the cloak tighter around her body. Winter clothing was one thing she had not thought to include in her capsule collection.

"Just don't forget to take it off if we have to fight." She glared at his retreating back.

* * *

Piccolo had always had an excellent memory and sense of direction; even after all these years, he had no trouble locating the cave that housed Dr. Gero's lab. As they approached he deliberately lowered his speed and flew closer to the ground to avoid detection; Pan, beside him, followed suit.

When they were just out of sight of the cave, he landed in a thicket of trees. "We're almost there," he informed Pan. "If you're wearing any weighted clothing, now would be a good time to take it off."

"I'm not."

"Good." He noted that she did, however, take the time to encapsulate the cloak he had given her.

Piccolo took a moment to strip off his own weighted gear, which he incinerated on the spot. He did not want to leave any evidence of their presence, and he could easily replace it once this battle is over.

"Are you really expecting him to be that strong?" For the first time since they had set out, Pan's face was starting to show signs of fear.

"He asked for a body even more powerful than that of his strongest creation – which would be Cell. When we confronted Cell in his perfect form, your father was the only one who was powerful enough to hold his own. The rest of us could not even lay a scratch on him." For a moment Piccolo's eyes went unfocused, as if lost in memory. "I honestly don't know how we would measure up to Cell at our current strength. But when the fate of the world is at stake, it's best to go all out from the beginning and not waste time. Your uncle taught me that."

"Uncle Goten?" Pan looked at him curiously. "I thought that you taught him."

"I did." Piccolo growled, baring his fangs. "After which he promptly forgot everything I taught him, made more stupid mistakes than I'd thought possible, and nearly got himself and all of the rest of us killed."

Pan raised a hand to her mouth to hide her growing smile. " _That_ sounds more like Uncle Goten," she said with a snicker.

"Enough talk. Let's go." He took to the air again, Pan beside him still trying to stifle her giggles.

They were maybe a third of the way to the door when he felt it: the worst sensation he'd ever experienced in his life, and that included Goku jumping down his throat and bouncing around his digestive tract. His _ki_ was being drained from his body, only this time, there was no android latched onto his back. There wasn't anything else in sight. And, from the panicked look Pan was giving him, it was happening to her too.

Then, without further warning, they both plummeted to the ground.

It was a good thing they had been flying low; otherwise one or both of them might have sustained serious injury. As it was, Piccolo would definitely have bruises in the morning.

"Ow." Pan sat up beside him, rubbing her backside. "Are you all right?"

"Yes, but we have to get out of here. Now." In spite of himself, the first vestiges of panic were beginning to creep up his spine. Gero must have figured out some way of draining _ki_ without direct contact, and their energy was being sapped so fast that soon they would not even be able to crawl to safety…

Pan didn't question him; she could feel the urgency of the situation just as well as he could. They both started running, as fast as they were able, back the way they had come.

Immediately, it became apparent that something was wrong. Soon they were well past the point where they had first fallen, but the drain did not stop. By now they were both panting for breath.

"It must… be a field… of some kind," Pan gasped, falling to her knees. Piccolo, if he chose to be honest with himself, wasn't doing much better. "Set to turn on… when we got… inside of the border…"

"We… have to take senzu." Piccolo had been hoping to conserve them, but they had no choice. If they couldn't get out of here, soon, they were done for. Besides, his sensitive ears had picked up the sound of a door opening somewhere behind them, and Kami only knew what was going to come out of it…

With the last of his strength, he opened his pouch and pulled out one of the precious beans. He felt Pan's _ki_ flare up beside him, and as Piccolo swallowed his own bean his energy rushed back into his body… only to immediately start draining again. They leaped into the air, hoping to get out while they still had the strength to fly, only to fall mere seconds later; Piccolo looked back to see the door fully open in the mountainside, and several blurs that were now rushing towards them…

"Come on!" Pan grabbed his wrist in one hand; with the other she whipped the rod off her back and planted its end firmly in the ground, so that it angled away from the mountain and the oncoming threat. "Power Pole extend!" Immediately they were in the air as the rod grew to impossible lengths…

…and energy blasts exploded all around them. The androids that were chasing them (it must have been androids, since Piccolo could feel no _ki_ ) had finally gotten close enough to attack. Pan cried out as one blast ripped through her right leg and another hit her in the side, but did not loosen her grip on either Piccolo or the rod. Another blast narrowly missed Piccolo but managed to hit the pouch on his belt instead, incinerating his last senzu.

Just when he thought things couldn't get any worse, an excruciating pain tore through his elbow. Then he was falling away from Pan, who gaped in horror as she was propelled out of sight, still clutching his severed arm.

Then, he hit the ground. Hard. With a scream of effort he barely managed to force a new limb out from the stump of his arm before they were on him.

_Pan_ , he sent frantically as he began to dodge blows, _don't come back for me. Get out of here._ They didn't have the mental connection necessary for two-way communication; she had no way to respond, and Piccolo could only hope that she'd heard.

He then focused all of his attention on the battle, knowing the odds were hopeless but determined not to go down without a fight. His attackers looked surprisingly unremarkable; in spite of the numerous scars that covered the visible parts of their bodies, they could have been a group of random humans who'd been picked off the streets.

Except for the eyes. These androids' eyes were not cold and emotionless, like those of Androids 17 and 18, nor did they appear apathetic, like 16's had been prior to his participation in the Cell Games.

No, Piccolo got a very good look at their eyes, and even he could see that they were drowning in pain.

He dodged a fist aimed for his gut, only to have a foot catch him hard in the back. Growling, he stood his ground and continued to block and dodge, fighting back as best he could. He even managed a few respectable _ki_ blasts, but he was tiring quickly, and took two blows for every one he managed to land.

Then, it happened. He moved just a little too slowly and a searing blast hit him in the chest, tearing a hole through his gi and leaving a nauseating smell of burning flesh. As he doubled over in pain another beam shot clean through his shoulder, leaving his arm hanging uselessly at his side.

_Gohan_ , he thought as both punches and energy blasts continued to batter his body, _I'm sorry. I tried to keep that promise. But it looks like I'll be seeing you again sooner than we thought…_

" _Piccolo._ "

He was so startled he nearly dropped his guard, and only just managed to get his arm up in time to block a blow that was aimed for his head. That was Pan's voice and she was speaking out loud, though so quietly that only a Namekian's sensitive hearing could hope to pick it up.

" _If you can hear me, I'm sending the Power Pole down to you. Get ready to grab hold._ "

For a second, Piccolo hesitated. He could literally feel his life force slipping away, both from the _ki_ drain and in the blood that was now seeping out of his body. If he died here…

No. His last words to Gohan would not be his first lie.

Snarling, he bent his legs and propelled himself away from his attackers with as much energy as he could muster. They followed, but he continued to push himself mercilessly, using every ounce of his rapidly diminishing energy to put as much distance as possible between them and himself…

" _Power Pole extend!_ "

Pan must have been shooting blind, for the end of the pole appeared some yards to his right. Still, he was ready. Knowing he had only seconds, Piccolo hyperextended his good arm and latched on…

" _Power Pole retract!_ "

…and was immediately jerked upwards with such force that his arm was almost yanked from its socket. Once again the air around him exploded with energy blasts as the androids gave chase… pain exploded in his back and side, but he held on with grim determination… and this time, there were answering blasts from above. Two of the androids exploded in midair when Pan's attacks hit; the third fell to the ground with a crash, just as Piccolo collided with something soft.

"It worked!" Pan's voice came from beneath him, sounding no less exuberant for the fact that Piccolo had apparently knocked her over and was now lying on top of her. "Oh Piccolo, I knew you would hear me!"

"Heh." Somehow, he found enough strength to roll off of her and onto the ground. Mercifully, the _ki_ drain had stopped. "It looks like you got some of your father's brains after all."

Pan smiled as she recognized the compliment – damn it, she had the Son grin too – but then her face fell as she took in Piccolo's tattered clothing and the purple blood that was now all over them both.

"You're hurt," she said quietly. "And I already ate my last senzu."

"I'll live." She was still looking at him like she was about to cry, exactly the same way that Gohan had used to look at him whenever he thought he'd done something wrong. Piccolo sighed. "I can regenerate, remember? Once I get my energy back, I'll be fine in a few days."

Pan's eyes were still wavering, but she nodded. "We have to get out of here." She looked around nervously. "I bet we tripped some kind of alarm, someone's bound to come looking for us soon." Kneeling down, she pulled his arm around her shoulders.

"Don't go back to your house or Capsule Corp.," he warned. "Gero will… know to look there…"

"Don't worry," Pan said, rising into the air. "I won't."

* * *

He must have blacked out shortly after that, for the next thing he knew he was on the ground and a pair of gentle hands was carefully peeling away what remained of the top of his gi.

"Pan," he started, "I said—"

"I know what you said." She had finished removing the damaged clothing and was now cleaning the wounds, sending lances of pain through his body and rendering him temporarily incapable of speech. "I'm just making sure you don't get an infection, or lose any more blood. Please trust me, Piccolo. I know what I'm doing."

In the end, he let her do what she wanted; it was less effort than arguing. And, he thought, maybe he would heal faster if his wounds were tended to.


	6. Old Wounds Reopened

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Piccolo tells Pan the truth of her father's past... and the part that he played in it.

Contrary to the common consensus among those who knew Piccolo, Namekians did sleep.

Piccolo just didn't.

It wasn't that he wasn't capable of doing so. He had just trained himself out of the need, to the extent that it wasn't easy for him to fall back into the habit even when doing so might have been beneficial.

Besides, even though sleep might have aided his recovery, it was prudent to have at least one of them awake at all times. And Piccolo had already had more than his share of passing out for the day.

Once Pan had finished patching his wounds, she'd started digging frantically through her collection of capsules until she'd come up with some sort of machine. Piccolo, drifting in and out of consciousness, had heard only snatches of frantic, one-sided conversations.

_"…knows we're here… …androids… …Goten, get to Capsule Corp.! …wounded, can't move him… …still upgrading her? Oh, no! …all right? Oh, thank Kami!"_

That experience had passed by in a feverish blur, and it was nearly nightfall before he was lucid again.

_When he woke fully, it was to find himself lying on the hard ground somewhere dark. The cloak that he had given Pan earlier was now tucked securely around his body._

" _What… happened?" he rasped._

_Pan, in the process of encapsulating the machine she had been shouting into all day, jumped up at the sound of his voice. Her eyes widened, a huge grin spread over her face, and before he could even blink she was at his side, one hand underneath his head and the other holding something to his lips._

_"Drink," she said – no,_ demanded _. She tilted the bowl, and Piccolo had no choice but to swallow. It was water, tinged only slightly with the aftertaste of something else that he could not recognize._

_"You haven't answered my question," he said as soon as he could speak again. Pan, he noted, was still wearing the bloody and shredded clothing in which she had entered that ill-fated battle, and there were dark circles under her eyes._

_"I thought that Gero might go after my friends and family, and I had to make sure they were all right." She was still grinning like a maniac, so Piccolo figured the news must be good. "I've put everyone on alert, but we actually haven't heard a peep from him. And Capsule Corp has been able to rig up some decent defenses, now."_

_"Good." Now, he took the time to notice his surroundings as his eyes finally adjusted to the fading light. They were sheltering in the mouth of a fairly large cave, and he could see just enough of the sky to catch the first glimmers of starlight outside. Pan had not lit a fire._

_"We'll have to stay here for a few days until you've recovered," she said. "It was the best shelter I could find."_

_"You are certain that Gero will not try to attack your allies?"_

_"No, he seems to be lying low for the time being. To be honest, I don't think he has all that many henchmen to spare."_

They had not talked much more after that. As soon as they were finished with the more practical discussion, a pensive gloom had seemed to settle over Pan, and she had gone about the necessary chores in near-silence, speaking only when required to tend to his needs. Piccolo did not miss the looks she had given him, nor the way she had paused in her activities several times and opened her mouth, only to abruptly close it again as she returned to whatever she was doing.

Even now, she had something on her mind. True, she had gone through all the motions of settling in for the night. She had briefly disappeared to go get water, which she left in easy reach. She had tucked the cloak more securely around him, saying something stern about the possibility of shock when he had protested that the temperature wouldn't bother him. She had even gone outside and flown around at low power, checking the area from every angle to make sure they were properly concealed before returning to the cave and laying out her bedroll.

But she had not gone to sleep.

Right now Pan was lying quite still in her bedroll, but Piccolo knew better. She was breathing too quietly, the cadence not quite even enough to be mistaken for true sleep, and her heartbeat had not yet changed from its waking rhythm. He heard her roll over in her bedroll. A few minutes later, she changed position again.

"Piccolo?"

Finally, she seemed ready to share whatever was on her mind. Piccolo grunted to show he was listening.

"I… heard what you were thinking, when you thought you were about to die."

"Hnh. It was not my intention to send that." That he had broadcast his thoughts by accident was irritating, to say the least.

Pan was silent for so long that he turned his head to look at her. He could barely even make out her silhouette in the dark cave; he could see that she was sitting up but not much more. There was a small, nervous rustle of fabric, the scraping of fingernails against stone, and in spite of Pan's sixty-plus years Piccolo suddenly felt that he was sharing the cave with a mere child: small, shy, unsure of herself.

"Spit it out."

"You… loved my father, didn't you?"

Years ago, Piccolo would have responded harshly, or snapped at her not to ask pointless questions. Now, however, whether he appeared soft hardly seemed to matter – as did so many other things that had been important to him before Gohan's death.

"Gohan… was not just my student. He was my son, and my best friend." Piccolo let out a sigh. "For a long time, he was the only friend I had."

"He talked about you a lot, you know." Her voice was gentle, and more than a little fond. "He had so many stories that he liked to tell…" The smile faded from her voice, however, as she trailed off, and when she next spoke it was very, very softly. "There were times, though…" She hesitated. "He wondered sometimes, I think, whether you cared about him as much as he cared about you."

It took a split second, after the words had left her mouth, for Piccolo to process their meaning. When he did, he put everything he had into suppressing his reaction, and not only because it would be physically painful. Pan didn't know him nearly as well as Gohan had; she wouldn't understand.

It wasn't enough. He managed to fight for only a few seconds before the bitter irony of it hit him full force, and in spite of his best efforts harsh laughter burst from his lips. Stabbing pains shot through his chest and abdomen, and the ringing echoes were painful to his ears, but he couldn't seem to stop no matter how hard he tried. Somewhere, dimly, in the back of his mind, he was surprised that the noise he was making had not yet alerted the world to their location and brought a horde of androids storming into the cave.

Finally, little by little, it stopped. His throat ached and his chest was heaving with the effort to get his breath back; tears stood in the corners of his eyes. Turning back to Pan, who was now holding a lit flashlight, he saw that she was watching him with wide eyes, one hand over her mouth.

"It's funny," he rasped. "It really is funny. All this time I've wondered whether Gohan didn't resent me for ruining his life."

"Ruining…? Piccolo, how could you say—" He held up a hand, weakly, and she fell silent.

She was looking at him with Gohan's eyes – exactly his eyes. At the very least, he thought, he owed her an explanation.

"Your father," he began, "had the great misfortune of not only being a prodigy at something he hated, but of being forced to do it again and again for the sake of those he cared about." He remembered the crying child, who didn't even come up to his knees, begging the monster before him to tell him what had happened to his father… "And _I_ was the first to see that potential." Piccolo wanted to look away, but he forced himself to continue meeting the eyes of Gohan's daughter. "I kidnapped him from his parents at the age of four, subjected him to harsh training in the middle of the wilderness. I dragged him into battle with me by the time he was five. Thanks to me, he saw more death in his early childhood than most will see in an entire lifetime.

"Before he turned six," Piccolo continued mercilessly, watching her face carefully for her reaction, "he faced the most ruthless tyrant in the galaxy… in order to bring me back to life. Then, only a few years after that…"

"The Cell Games." Pan's voice was quiet; her eyes were once again on the ground.

"Yes." He looked away as well, fixing his gaze on those few stars he could see through the mouth of the cave. "Though he bore it well, he would never have fought for his own gratification, unlike his father – or his daughter." There was a slight rustle as Pan shifted her weight, but he did not look at her.

"When Gohan decided to give up fighting, there was no longer a place in his life for me. He might have been my son, but I was not his father. I was only his teacher, and my teachings had brought him nothing but pain."

Again, silence. After a few minutes he turned his head toward Pan again; she was still looking down, and tears were leaking from her eyes, running down her face to drip onto the floor of the cave.

"Did he—" The rest of her words were lost in a sob, and she was forced to start over. "Did he know… at least… at the end?"

_Promise me…_

"He knew. Whatever I said or didn't say, in the end… he knew."

* * *

Hours later Piccolo was still staring up at a rock ceiling that he could not see.

They had not spoken another word. Eventually Pan had slipped back into her bedroll, and though it had taken awhile, her breathing had eventually evened out as she fell into slumber at last.

For his part, Piccolo was still thinking on what she had said. He had thought, then, that he had nothing left to give the boy he cared about so much… fighting was the only thing he knew, and Gohan would be better off without his teachings…

Then, after the Cell Games, he had watched Gohan's life begin to fill with other people he loved. His mother and brother. Dende. The girl who would eventually become his wife. His own father, once Goku had deigned to return from the dead. Piccolo had felt that he was no longer needed, that there was no longer any place for him in Gohan's life. And yet…

_"What are you doing up here, kid?"_

_"Mom said it was okay for me to come study with Dende. Is he around?"_

_"Right now he's performing his Guardian duties. You know, his job."_

_"Oh. Okay then." Not fazed in the least, Gohan dropped his satchel and proceeded to plop down onto the tiles by Piccolo's feet. "Just the other day I was taking a walk in the woods and I saw this really cool-looking lizard, and I was remembering something I read in one of my textbooks…"_

_Piccolo didn't reply to his senseless rambling, but once in a while let out a grunt or reached over to ruffle Gohan's hair…_

Nearly a year after the Cell Games…

_"It'saboyit'saboyit'saboyit'saboyit'saboy…!"_

_Piccolo barely had time to open his mouth to ask what the hell Gohan was talking about when the kid barreled into him at full speed, knocking him flat onto his back._

_"Gohan, get_ off _! And while you're at it, explain yourself!"_

_"It's a boy!" Gohan laughed, rocking back on his heels, and Piccolo finally managed to draw a breath. "It's a boy and I have a baby brother and Mom's okay and we're naming him Goten and he looks just like Dad…"_

_As he uttered those last words, however, his grin faded. "…and he doesn't have a father." That last part was said so quietly that it probably wasn't meant for Piccolo's ears, but he heard it anyway, along with the unspoken addition: "…and it's all my fault."_

_There was nothing Piccolo could say that he had not already said. Instead, he sat up, and gently laid a hand on Gohan's head…_

Seven years after Goku's death, shortly before things had gone straight to hell…

_"So, what do you think?"_

_"Gohan, I can't lie to you. You look ridiculous."_

_"Oh, come on! It's fashion! Bulma says…"_

Another six years after _that_ …

_"It'sagirlit'sagirlit'sagirlit'sagirlit'sagirl…!"_

_This time, Piccolo felt him coming just in time to dodge. Gohan barreled past him, laughing out loud as he did a flip midair and changed directions without a second thought. He was wearing a huge grin on his face. "It's a girl and I have a baby daughter and Videl's okay and we're naming her Pan…"_

_Here Gohan paused, and his huge grin grew softer, more hesitant. "…and she's named after you."_

_This time, Piccolo couldn't have spoken if his life depended on it. He simply stood there staring at Gohan with his mouth gaping open. Later, he did not like to think about how he must have looked._

_Fortunately, Gohan seemed to understand. He rubbed the back of his head, and though the happiness did not fade from his face his expression grew serious. "Piccolo, I wanted to ask if you'd be her godfather."_

_Piccolo crossed his arms, forcing his mouth closed and narrowing his eyes. "Not unless I know just what that entails."_

_"It means you'll look after her if something happens to me and Videl. Or, you know, even if something doesn't happen." Piccolo barely managed to avoid rolling his eyes at Gohan's inability to articulate his thoughts. Barely. "You don't have to give me an answer now." Gohan turned to go. "Just don't take too long to get back to me; I'm sure that Krillin would also be willing…"_

_"Fine."_

_Gohan whipped around, his face breaking into a huge grin. "You mean it?"_

_"Since when have I ever said anything I didn't—oof!" Gohan had barreled into him, and was now hugging him so tightly he could barely breathe._

_"Thank you." Gohan's voice was muffled by the front of Piccolo's gi, but Piccolo could still understand him perfectly. "For everything. I couldn't ask for a better choice."_

Finally, too late, Piccolo was seeing everything he had never seen before. Again and again Gohan had offered him a way back into his life, would have welcomed him back without a second thought if only Piccolo had not been so blind. Now he cursed himself for a fool; had he not been so aloof, so proud, so certain that he knew what was best or what Gohan needed… Their relationship might have begun with fighting, but fighting was not the basis for it, never had been. And now, Piccolo had lost his chance…

Again, he felt his eyes burning as he stared into the dark, and this time he did not try to stop the tears. There was no one to see.

_Gohan… is this why you asked me to make that promise?_

But of course, there was no answer. And there never would be again.


	7. Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's no getting around awkwardness, but when Pan reaches out to Piccolo, she finds her gesture surprisingly reciprocated... though not in the way that she'd expected.

Neither of them mentioned their conversation the next morning. When she woke Pan rose from her bedroll in silence, put up her hair, and left the cave without a word. Piccolo did not ask where she was going.

When she returned several minutes later she had a bundle of leaves sticking out of one pocket and was carrying a fish nearly as big as she was, which she proceeded to cook and eat just outside of the mouth of the cave. Piccolo watched in disgust for a few minutes before turning away, though he was unable to block out the noises. The night before, however, had left him numb, and somehow the disgust of watching a Saiyan eat had less of an impact on him than it would have ordinarily.

Within the space of ten minutes, there were only bones left. Pan stomped dirt over her small fire and buried the remains before she returned to the cave and turned, slowly, reluctantly, toward Piccolo.

"I need to change your bandages." It was the first time all morning that either of them had spoken.

"Do what you want."

She knelt down beside him, digging through her capsule assortment. As she located and opened the capsule she was looking for, Piccolo spoke again. "We need a plan."

"I know." She lifted the cloak from his body before moving him – gently, though the motion was enough to send jolts of pain through his body – and helped him to sit against the wall of the cave. "We need to think of a way to get past that _ki_ -draining field. Is there any other way into the lab?"

"Not that I know of." It was good to have something practical to talk about, something that did not stir up so many emotions better left buried. "But I think it likely that the field does not extend into the lab. It cannot, if he needs Dende alive." Pan did not look up as she cut away the bandages, but nodded to show that she was listening. "That is, of course, assuming Dende is even being held at the lab."

"Sounds reasonable, and it's the only lead we've got." She let out a sigh of frustration. "It really isn't that far to the door, if only we could… fly…" Pan's eyes glazed over for a moment, and even her hands stopped moving as she sat lost in thought. "What about Nimbus?"

"Pan, I can't ride that thing."

"Doesn't matter. You can hold onto me." Pan started humming a cheerful tune as she plucked the leaves from her pocket and began to grind them into pulp.

While she was doing that, Piccolo occupied himself by imagining the various ways he might ride on a fluffy yellow cloud, supported by a woman a full head and a half shorter than he was. By the time Pan had finished with the leaves, he had come to the conclusion that there was no way he was going to make it through this with his dignity intact. Still, it was the only thing they had thought of that could conceivably work. He grunted his consent.

"It's a plan, then." She paused, examining the green paste she had made and apparently finding it to her satisfaction, before looking back at him. "Okay. This will hurt."

"Just do it."

Pan nodded, and then swiftly applied the paste to his shoulder. Immediately it felt as if every nerve ending in that bit of flesh had been lit on fire; Piccolo clenched his jaw with a hiss of pain, his talons leaving gouges in the floor of the cave. Thankfully the sensation lasted only a few seconds, but he had to resist the urge to swat her hand away as she continued the process on the rest of his wounds.

"What _is_ that?" he asked after she was finished, just as soon as he could trust himself to speak without screaming.

"Grandpa Goku showed me when he took me camping. He said to remember it because it would come in handy if… if we ever ran out of senzu…"

Piccolo nodded, leaning his head against the rock as she began to apply fresh bandages. "Your grandfather may have done a lot of stupid things in his life, but he had his moments."

* * *

It would be several more days before Piccolo was in any condition to fight again, and so they used the time to plan. Pan, when she wasn't foraging, eating, or tending to his wounds, spent a great deal of time using that strange machine of hers to keep in contact with her friends at Capsule Corp. More than once, Piccolo had heard Goten's voice coming through as well.

Pan, he noted, still had not changed out of the gi that she had left the house in the morning they had left (had it really been only a day ago?). The garment was in horrible shape; there were large splotches of both crimson and violet all over the orange. The hit to the leg she had taken earlier had also shredded one of her pant legs from the knee down, and the gaping hole in her shirt was so large that even Piccolo could tell it was barely on the edge of decency.

"Didn't you bring any spare clothes at all?" he asked as Pan hung up after her latest call to Capsule Corp. Her only response was to look at the ground, blushing slightly.

"Never mind," he grumbled, raising a hand. "I'll just—"

"No." To his surprise, Pan shook her head as she pushed herself to her feet. "I don't think you can spare the energy right now. Just… hold on a minute, okay?" Without another word of explanation, she made her way further back into the cave, until she was well out of Piccolo's sight.

He had learned not to push her when she did things like this; there would be no getting anything out of her until she was ready to explain. So he waited. From somewhere in the back of the cave, Piccolo heard a rustling which he assumed meant she was stripping off the damaged clothing. His guess was confirmed when a heap of cloth was dropped on the ground, followed by the click and distinctive expansion of compressed air that accompanied an opening capsule.

Had Pan brought a change of clothes after all?

His question was answered when he heard her pulling on some new article of clothing, and he wondered irritably why she hadn't done so before. When she had finished her _ki_ spiked, briefly, and Piccolo assumed she had incinerated the discarded gi.

A few more minutes passed before she came back out. When she did her steps were slow, hesitant, and sounded much softer than before – not at all like the boisterous clomping that was usually produced by her heavy boots. Finally, though, Pan emerged from the shadows, and Piccolo had to suppress a gasp of surprise.

It was not eye-blinding orange that greeted his sight, but dark purple. A blue belt fit snugly around her waist, and soft, moccasin-like shoes adorned her feet. Raising his eyes to her face, Piccolo saw with a shock that there was a faint pink blush spreading across her cheeks.

After a few seconds of silence, he finally managed to find his voice again. "…Pan…?"

Still blushing, not making eye contact, she moved further toward the mouth of the cave and began to arrange kindling for a fire. "Dad left me…" She hissed in frustration as the sticks she'd been propping into a tent shape clattered to the ground, and started again. "He knew you'd never had another student, not really. He said that even though you never actually taught me, he thought you'd like it if I wore your colors once in a while in addition to Grandpa Goku's, since he couldn't." She started picking the sticks up once again.

Once again, Piccolo was speechless. Though he would never say as much out loud, he was deeply moved, touched that his student would think so much of preserving his legacy.

But also ashamed. That Gohan would ever find it necessary to apologize for following his own path in life.

"Pan."

The whole time he had noticed her watching him out of the corner of her eye, and as these thoughts went through Piccolo's head he had noticed Pan's face changing, her expression softening as the blush faded from her cheeks, and Piccolo wondered irritably whether he had broadcast his thoughts by accident again. Now her eyes were filled with understanding, and she gave him her full attention as she turned toward him, leaving the sticks forgotten on the ground.

"I… appreciate the gesture. But my earlier offer still stands."

Pan nodded, offering him a small smile, and suddenly the awkwardness between them was gone. "Just as soon as you're well enough," she said.

* * *

Two days later, Piccolo could tell that it wouldn't be long before he was fully recovered. Pan, when he told her as much, was skeptical – until she removed the bandages again and discovered that most of his wounds were already halfway closed.

"Woah," she murmured, taking a closer look at his shoulder. "Yesterday I could've sworn your arm was more off than on… How do you do that?"

"I told you," he said, smirking, "Namekians heal fast."

"Man, I wish I could do that." She rocked back on her heels and resumed her grinding of the now much-dreaded leaf paste. "Have you thought of anything else that might help us when we go in?"

Piccolo shook his head. He had already told her all the details he could remember of Gero's lab, and he had a very good memory.

She bit her lip for a second. "Have you had any luck—"

"No," Piccolo snapped, his own worry making his temper even shorter than usual. "I will _tell_ you if I manage to contact Dende. In the meantime, you should trust that I am still trying."

"Sorry."

* * *

The next morning, he came out of his light trance at sunrise and realized he felt right again. Sitting up, Piccolo hooked one of his talons under the bandages on his chest, and hesitated only a second before yanking his hand downward. The gauze fell away with a jagged ripping sound.

Pan stirred in her bedroll, mumbling something about food, but then sat bolt upright as she came fully awake. "What are you— _oh!_ " she exclaimed. "You're healed!"

"Why, exactly, do you sound so surprised?" With a wave of his hand, a new gi appeared on his body. Much better.

"Guess I'm just used to dealing with humans." She sat up, putting her chin in her hands. "You do know a normal person would have taken several months to recover from that."

Piccolo merely grunted in response. When training a five-year-old Gohan, it didn't take one long to become completely inured to inane chatter. "Just stay still," he said, "and I'll replace yours as well."

Pan did not reply, but from the way she shifted her weight, Piccolo could sense her hesitation. "What now?"

"It's just… if you use that trick, won't it get rid of what I'm already wearing?"

He lowered his hand. "Yes, but I don't see why that matters." He had thought she was uncomfortable wearing his colors; had she changed her mind?

"It wouldn't… it wouldn't bother you?"

Piccolo shook his head. "It's for the best."

Their eyes met, and in that moment he knew that she understood why. With a quick nod, Pan closed her eyes. "Do it."

That was all the prompting he needed. A beam of brilliant light surrounded Pan's body, and when it had dissipated, she was clad in a gi like Goku's once again.

"Thank you." She looked down at herself, plucking at the fabric. "Wow, and it's exactly right, too. How do you do that?"

"It's a Namekian ability. Trying to explain it would be like trying to explain human reproduction to me—I _don't_ want to know!" he added hastily as Pan opened her mouth.

She closed it with a mischievous smile.

Was it just him, or had she just pulled a prank?

"So when do you think we'll be able to move out?" she asked, still grinning, breaking into his thoughts.

"Now that I've healed, it shouldn't be long before I regain full strength," he said, still caught between annoyance and relief. "Tomorrow morning, at the latest."

"That's great!" Pan bolted out of the cave, presumably to go get breakfast. "StaythereI'llbebackinafewminutes!" she yelled as she flew away.

Shaking his head, Piccolo found a sunny spot and settled into a meditative trance, putting all of his focus into regaining his strength.


	8. From Bad to Worse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Piccolo and Pan finally manage to successfully break into Gero's lab, but that's only the beginning of their problems...

"We're close enough. Stop here."

Carefully, keeping their _ki_ low, they landed just beyond the spot where they'd first tripped the field. The golden Nimbus was hovering passively next to Pan, and Piccolo kept shooting it apprehensive looks.

"Right." Pan nodded her head. "Let's do this."

Removing the Power Pole from her back, Pan dropped into a fighting stance with it held at her side. Piccolo moved to stand behind her, and his large hands came to rest on her shoulders, bracing her up.

"Power Pole extend!"

The pole covered the distance between their vantage point and the door in the blink of an eye. When it connected the recoil jarred up through her arms, but Piccolo's firm support kept her from sliding backward. There was a deep resounding clang.

"Again!"

She retracted the pole and moved it ever so slightly, aiming for the weak point at the seam in the doors. Pan sighted along the pole for a second before she commanded it to lengthen, and when it hit this time, the doors held for only a second before flying open.

"Let's go!" Pan leaped atop the Nimbus, Piccolo shifted his grip with a grimace, and they were flying toward the door at breakneck speed.

Immediately they both felt the drain, but Pan clenched her jaw and urged Nimbus to go faster. Their starting point really wasn't that far from the door – if they could fly, they could make it. Then they were through, and the awful feeling of her life being sucked from her body suddenly stopped. Pan felt Piccolo's hands slip from her shoulders; she allowed her body to roll off Nimbus and fell, panting, to the ground.

"Get up!" Piccolo was supporting himself with a hand on the wall, but had still somehow managed a passable defensive stance. "We have to be ready for attack!"

Groaning with effort, Pan drew her legs underneath her and then stood, using one hand on Nimbus to push herself up. And not a moment too soon: there was the sound of a door opening elsewhere in the lab, and then four more attackers were upon them.

Under normal circumstances, the two of them together would have made short work of such opponents. As it was, however, they were both still severely weakened from the _ki_ drain they'd just undergone. This time, the fight was going to be tough.

Pan whipped the Power Pole off her back and used it to block several vicious blows. Thankfully these androids weren't throwing energy blasts; she wasn't sure whether they were trying to avoid damaging sensitive equipment or they simply weren't capable, and she wasn't about to question her luck.

Somewhere off to the side she could hear an exchange of blows and a deep baritone battle-roar, but could not spare the attention to see how Piccolo was faring. Adrenaline pounded through every vein in her body, and somewhere in the back of her mind Pan recalled the question Piccolo had asked on the morning they'd set out. At the time, she'd thought he was being pedantic.

Now, however, she understood. Though she had fought before, and often, it had always been in tournaments and friendly sparring matches; accidents could happen, but there were rules, there had always been rules.

Now, it was different. Now, there was only one rule: kill or be killed. It was that simple. It didn't matter who was right or wrong, or whether the fight was fair: for the loser, the result would be the same.

And if they lost now, even those friends off the battlefield would share their fate.

That thought drove Pan to push herself as she'd never pushed before; ignoring the sluggishness of her body and the way every muscle seemed to scream in protest when she moved, she redoubled her efforts, battering away at every part of her attackers that she could reach. The battle reached its climax when they came at her from both sides; pivoting on her foot, Pan sidekicked one into a nearby wall hard enough to leave a dent, simultaneously ramming the other in the face with the nigh-indestructible Power Pole.

It wasn't the Power Pole that gave.

Gasping for breath as the adrenaline faded and the strain she'd put on her body finally caught up with her, Pan collapsed to her knees. Hearing labored breathing, she turned to see Piccolo holding a mechanical head in one hand and a body in the other. He tossed both aside with a look of disgust.

"I always hated machines," he growled.

Pan smiled – to see even this much humor from Piccolo was rare. His mouth even quirked up at one corner in response, but then his eyes fixed on something behind her and widened in horror.

"Get down!"

She started to turn her head, but was too slow. Before she knew what was happening she was slammed into the ground, and then a barrage of energy blasts whizzed over her head. There was a clanging sound behind her, followed by a concussive blast so loud it was a wonder she didn't go deaf, and then all was still.

For a few seconds she didn't dare move, only breathed in and out as best she could as she waited for the ringing in her ears to subside, expecting at any moment to see the Check-In Station that her grandfather had used to tell her stories about.

A few seconds later, it occurred to her that she didn't hurt. The wind had been knocked out of her, true, her ears were still ringing, and her cheek smarted from where her face had made contact with the floor, but unless she was in such bad shock that she could no longer feel pain, she had not received further injury.

She lifted her head, and saw that the android that she had kicked into the wall was now nothing more than a smoking mass of charcoal, with one of its hands still outstretched from where it must have thrown a blast. The weight on her back was Piccolo's hand: he was the one who'd knocked her over, and was now lying next to her, having forced her to the floor with his own momentum. His other hand, she noticed with growing alarm, was clutching the side of his head.

"Piccolo?"

When he didn't answer her anxiety escalated into outright panic. Suddenly sure that he had taken the blast meant for her, Pan struggled to her knees and knelt in front of him, fearing the worst. Gently, she grasped his wrist and moved his hand away from his head, sure that he'd suffered a head wound at the least…

…only to find that there was not a drop of blood on him. Something must have been wrong, though; he was breathing in shallow gasps, and his jaw was clenched in obvious pain. At a complete loss, Pan tried again.

"Piccolo? Piccolo, what's wrong?"

She was still grasping his wrist, and gave it a slight squeeze, more out of habit than anything else. And this time he did look up at her, immediately schooling his face to its normal impassive expression.

She wished he wouldn't do that.

_Whatever it is you're saying, I can't hear you._

In the space of time it took to realize that he was speaking telepathically, it hit her. Whatever that final explosion had been, the noise of it had ricocheted all around the enclosed space, bouncing off the metal walls. And if the blast had been loud enough to make _her_ ears ring, what must it have done to Piccolo's much more sensitive hearing?

But, of course, she had the answer right in front of her.

"I—oh, Piccolo…"

He shook his head, either in irritation or an attempt to shake off the pain. _Stop that. Whatever you're saying, this isn't the time._ He drew his knees up underneath himself and nearly fell over, but somehow he managed to push himself, still swaying, to his feet. _I ought to be able to regenerate once I get some of my energy back. But in the meantime, I'm short one of my senses and we can't rely on_ ki _. This is getting to be a bad situation._

"It was bad from the beginning," she answered, and then promptly remembered that he couldn't hear her.

"Oh, but it's about to get much, much worse."

Time seemed to grind to a halt. Slowly, feeling as though she were moving through molasses, Pan turned toward the source of the voice. There, standing in one of the lab's inner doorways, was an old man with long white hair, a thick white moustache, and soulless, icy blue eyes.

Dr. Gero.


	9. A New Ally

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It looks like our heroes have no hope left when someone else unexpectedly comes to their aid.

Behind her, she could hear Piccolo's snarl of rage. Gero smiled.

"You remember me, I see." Instinctively, Pan tightened her grip on the Power Pole and took a step back as the doctor approached them. In spite of the fact that two of the most powerful fighters on Earth had invaded his lab, _he_ seemed perfectly at ease. She remembered what Piccolo had told her: he was one of _them_. _Don't throw_ ki _blasts, don't let him touch you…_ Though she kept her eyes on Gero, she could feel Piccolo tensing behind her.

"I must admit, I'm rather surprised that you're still alive… and you've brought a friend, no less." The former human's cold, empty eyes ran lightly up and down Pan's body, and even though his gaze did not linger she felt herself breaking out into gooseflesh. "She looks rather familiar…" For a split second his eyes went out of focus, in much the same way Dende's did when he was communing with the Earth, but then he snapped back to the present. "Ah, I see," he said softly. "She's the daughter of that brat that saved you before. It _has_ been a long time. Amazing, isn't it, how frail these organics are? How quickly they seem to die…"

Suddenly, Pan was very glad that Piccolo could not hear his words. As it was, they certainly had an effect on _her_. Forgetting her fear for the moment, she stepped forward, her hands shaking with anger.

"That so-called _organic_ was my father," she spat. "And if you think that we'll let you—"

A heavy hand landed firmly on her shoulder, cutting her off. _Don't do anything rash_ , Piccolo sent, tightening his grip. _Ignore him. Use the time we've got to try and connect with me. The longer he talks, the more time we have to plan._

Gero was laughing. "That was a smart move, Piccolo. I see you're still as clever as you always were. It would be a shame for such a pretty thing to throw away her life so soon. So strong, too… I wonder whether she would be worth converting?"

Gritting her teeth, Pan forced herself to ignore the doctor and attempted to focus her mind. _Piccolo? Piccolo, can you hear me?_

There was no response, which she gathered to mean that he couldn't.

"…how much better the world would be, if we were to simply shed these imperfect bodies? Think about it. There would be no more sickness, no death… no need to grow old. Yet no one seems to appreciate just what I am offering…"

Pan forcefully tuned him out again, concentrating instead on trying to answer Piccolo's telepathy. She visualized a tendril of consciousness, reaching behind her to connect her mind to his.

_Piccolo? If you can hear me, please respond._

Further silence.

"…well? You really have nothing to say to that?"

Then, Piccolo's voice spoke in her head. _If you haven't managed it yet, you're not going to. Now listen. Getting close to him is dangerous, so I want you to use that pole of yours to damage his hands in any way you can. While you're doing that, I'll move in. I've fought him before; I'm better prepared to fend him off in close combat._

It was a slim chance, but it was the only one they had. Pan nodded slightly to let Piccolo know that she'd heard, hoping Gero would take it for a slump of defeat.

"Both of you are really starting to bore me," Gero said, crossing his arms. "Where is that Saiyan fighting spirit I've heard so much about? And Piccolo, you gave me quite the fight the last time we met. Did old age finally catch up with you? Or are you just afraid?"

"Please," Pan whispered, stepping forward, allowing some of her true worry to show on her face. "We don't have to fight. We just want our friend back. Please, just tell us what you've done with Dende."

"You'll be seeing Dende again soon enough." That was not at all reassuring. "Now, my dear, you have two options. Do as I say, and this will be relatively painless, but if you continue to resist—"

"Power Pole extend!"

The pole shot straight toward the doctor as it lengthened, but Gero was faster. He phased out of sight in a flash, only to reappear right in front of her.

He leered, his ugly face mere inches from Pan's. "That, my dear, was a very stupid move." He allowed her a pause, just long enough to show her how far outclassed she truly was, before reaching out a hand—

—only to be shoved away as Piccolo attacked from the side. Gero, moving almost too fast for her to follow, lunged at Piccolo and nearly caught him by the throat, but Pan used the Power Pole to swat him aside before he could close his fingers, and Piccolo managed to jump backwards out of his reach. Snarling, he leaped at Pan again, and when Piccolo tried to come to her assistance Gero retaliated with an energy blast that left him crumpled on the floor.

She managed to get the Power Pole in between them in time to stop Gero from latching on to her, but his mechanical body was stronger than it looked. He continued to come at her, trying to reach around the pole, so quickly that it was all she could do just to block his attacks. Little by little, she was forced to move backwards. Then, she moved her foot back one more step—only to feel her back make contact with a wall. She was trapped.

Gero lunged at her again. She turned the pole sideways and rammed it into his body, but then he was on her again, gripping the rod with both hands; she pushed back with all her might, but he was so strong that her arms were shaking with the effort. Slowly, they started to give. Again, he reached for her face—

—and stumbled when a _ki_ blast hit him squarely between the shoulder blades, going off-balance just long enough for Pan to bring the Power Pole down onto his head and roll to the side. Looking around, she saw that Piccolo had managed to get up on one knee even though he was gasping for breath. One of his arms was still outstretched, wisps of vapor trailing around his hand from the residual _ki_.

"Careless of me," Gero muttered. "I could have used the energy."

Immediately he phased over to Piccolo, and Pan's heart clenched with fear. It was obvious that Piccolo was completely depleted; that _ki_ blast had been his last bit of energy. And, if the smirk on his face was anything to go by, Gero knew it too.

"A good show, Piccolo. Very good. But I'm afraid the end has come for you." He walked forward easily, completely ignoring Pan. "Don't worry," he crooned, flexing one of his hands. "It'll all be over soon."

" _No!_ " Pan pushed off of the wall, using her momentum to ram the Power Pole into his back. Gero didn't even flinch – Piccolo was not the only one who was spent. Pan had nearly reached the end of her own strength; she might as well have been an untrained child for all the effect that her blow had. Instead, he only turned his head – just enough for her to see his triumphant smirk.

"You organics never did know when to give up." He knelt in front of Piccolo, taking his chin in hand. "Don't worry, however," he gloated, one eye still on Pan. "It'll be your turn soon after." He tilted Piccolo's face up towards him, raising his other hand… Piccolo was snarling, knowing that he could do nothing…

Then, out of nowhere, something slammed into Gero, so forcefully that he crashed into the wall opposite, leaving a dent. Pan looked around frantically for their savior; whoever it was had moved so fast that she had only seen a blur, and she couldn't get a lock on any _ki_ signature.

"Why don't you pick on someone your own make and model… _father?_ "

It was Android 18.


	10. The Guardian Found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Piccolo and Pan have found Dende at last... but will they be able to help him?

For a moment, nobody moved. Then Android 18 fixed Pan with her ice-blue gaze.

"What are you waiting for?" she snapped. "Get going."

Pan nodded. Pulling Piccolo's arm over her shoulders, she helped him to stand. They made their way, slowly, to the back of the lab. As they reached the door Pan turned to #18, who had taken her eyes off of them and was now staring intently at Gero.

"Thank—"

"Go."

With a nod from Pan, they slipped through the door.

She heard running footsteps – Pan did not look back, but she knew that Gero had given chase – followed by the clang of metal meeting not-quite-flesh. "Don't even think about it," said Android 18, and Pan, though she had always had trouble reading Uncle Krillin's distant wife, could now hear the anger beneath her seemingly impassive voice. "Your fight is with me."

The door clanged shut behind them.

Even through the thick metal of the door Pan could hear the fierce exchange of blows, battle-cries, and the occasional clang of a body propelled into a wall, but she did not stop their slow walk down the hallway or even look back. Android 18 could hold her own. As a matter of fact, at the moment she was better equipped to take on Gero than either of them – aside from being at full strength, she had no _ki_ to steal.

_Pan, I can walk._

She stopped, wanting to ask Piccolo whether he was sure, but there wouldn't have been a point even if he could hear the question. So she kept silent and paused for a moment for him to remove his arm from around her shoulders. He immediately began to sway on his feet, eyes closed, and Pan began to doubt the wisdom of withdrawing her support. She was just readying herself to catch him if he fell again when his eyes snapped back open.

_I feel Dende's_ ki _. It's faint, but it's here._

Pan's eyes widened, and she stretched out her own _ki_ senses. After a moment, she felt it too. It was, as Piccolo had said, faint, but that could mean any number of things; Dende had never had a large _ki_ signature to begin with. The important thing was that he was here, and that he was alive.

Feeling her face break into a broad grin for the first time in days, Pan sprinted down the hallway with renewed energy, letting the faint _ki_ signature lead the way. Piccolo followed, still panting but managing to keep pace; for once, he was not speaking words of caution, but seemed to be just as eager as she.

Before long, the hallway let out into what looked like another lab. Pan moved forward, searching the room for Dende, and let out a gasp of horror at what she saw. The room was furnished with several metal tables, all of them equipped with straps that could only be restraints; smaller stands beside them held an array of surgical instruments, as well as several other wicked-looking metal tools whose purpose Pan did not think she wanted to know. The tables, the instruments, and the floor around them all sported reddish-brown bloodstains, and she dearly hoped that whatever it was Gero did in here, he had not done it to Dende.

Piccolo, meanwhile, was also looking around, his brow ridges lowering in a scowl as he too took in the meaning of what they were seeing. Pan swallowed and forced herself to look away from the tables, reaching out with her senses. Dende's _ki_ felt stronger here; he had to be somewhere close by…

Then, she saw it. There was another door in this lab, opposite the one from which they had entered. It was flush with the wall and had neither handle nor window, only a small access panel set into the wall beside it, so it was no wonder they had missed it at first.

Waving at Piccolo to get his attention, she pointed to the door. He gave a nod and strode across the room, Pan by his side. They both bent to examine the access panel.

_I don't know how to open this._

Unfortunately, neither did she. Guessing the passcode would take time – much more time than they had – and Pan's skill with machines was limited, for the most part, to following instructions in a manual and hoping she had understood them correctly. Hacking the door open was beyond her abilities. Blasting it down was not an option; even if they did have sufficient strength left, which Pan very much doubted, Dende was somewhere behind it. If they used force, he would likely get hurt. Hopelessly, she looked up at Piccolo and shook her head.

_All right. I'm going to try to get through to him again. Maybe the proximity will help._ Piccolo laid his palm against the door and leaned in close, closing his eyes. After a few minutes that seemed an eternity they snapped open again.

_He's here._ Pan smiled in relief, but in spite of the good news Piccolo was grimacing, and his mental voice sounded troubled. _He's… coming in faint, for some reason. I can barely hear him._ He concentrated again, his face taking on the same focused look as when he was meditating. Pan did not interrupt, but watched his back in case any more of Gero's creations decided to show up.

Finally, he removed his hand from the door and took a step back. _He saw Gero enter the code at least once. The memory wasn't coming in clearly, but at least we have somewhere to start._

With that, Piccolo started pushing buttons on the access panel, presumably basing his guesses on the vague details of the memory Dende had shown him. Pan, feeling jittery, continued to keep watch, gripping the Power Pole tightly. Every time the access panel beeped she jumped in anticipation, only to be disappointed when she heard Piccolo's snarl of frustration.

At long last, however, he managed to hit the right combination. Pan positively sagged with relief when the door slid open with a faint whooshing sound, allowing the two of them to step through.

"Dende?" she called. There were no windows in the room – prison cell, more accurately – but as her eyes adjusted Pan could make out a crumpled form lying on a stone slab that protruded from the wall, back turned to them.

"Dende?" she said again, more softly, kneeling down next to the slab. "Dende, it's okay, it's us. We've come to get you out of here."

* * *

"Ungrateful child!" Gero spat as he dodged yet another one of #18's blows. "I created you! I gave you eternal life, a perfect body – and this is how you repay me?"

"You created me as a power boost for Cell!" This time he wasn't fast enough, and Android 18's foot connected firmly with his midsection, sending him flying into a wall. "The only reason for my existence was to be swallowed by that monster!"

"You would have become a part of something much greater than yourself!" he countered, picking himself up off the floor. "Why can you not understand that?" Pushing off from the wall, he lunged at her again.

"Greater than myself? Don't make me laugh!" They moved back into the middle of the room, exchanging a barrage of punches, neither gaining the upper hand. "Your 'perfect creation' was destroyed by one of those 'weak organics' – a mere child, who wiped out every last trace of your crowning achievement!"

"Yes – and that child is now dead of old age." Finding an opening, he landed a punch to her jaw, so hard that she went flying into a table. It crashed to the floor, its contents flying all across the room along with Android 18, who was hurtled end-over-end several times before she came to rest, gasping in pain, against the opposite wall. "Whereas you, my dear, will never grow old, never die." He walked toward her, seeming to be perfectly at ease, his arms outspread as if to welcome her into his embrace.

#18 got slowly to her feet, her left arm now spitting sparks of electricity. "You seem to think that you've given me a gift." She was no longer shouting. In contrast, her voice had gone deadly soft, and her eyes were mere slits of anger. "But you took Krillin away from me." She stepped forward. "You took Marron away from me." Another step. "Everyone I've ever loved has died, but I'm stuck here, because of _you!_ " She lunged.

Gero, who had seemed so sure he'd gained the upper hand, fell back in surprise as she slammed into him and started hitting every inch of his body that she could reach. It didn't take long, however, for him to regain his composure and start blocking her attacks, adding in a few punches of his own.

"Love? You disappoint me. I thought I had programmed you better than to indulge in such weak human emotions." He nonchalantly caught a furious blow that was aimed for his face, reaching for the table behind him with his free hand. "But if you wish for death so badly, I can certainly oblige you."

Gero pulled his hand out from behind his back: he was holding the deactivator. He hesitated just long enough for Android 18's eyes to widen in shock.

He pushed the button.

* * *

"Dende?" Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Piccolo move to stand beside her. "Dende? It's me, Pan. We've come to take you home."

At that Dende finally turned to look at them. His face was streaked with blood and grime (and, she thought, more than a few tearstains), his normally bright eyes dulled by pain. Piccolo let out an involuntary gasp of shock.

Dende's antennae had been removed, the wounds cauterized so he could not re-grow them. She knew, now, where the blood on the Lookout had come from, why Piccolo had been unable to contact him for so long. Seeing that he was shivering, Pan reached out to feel his forehead, but he flinched away violently when her hand got too close to the twin scars. So she touched the back of her hand to his cheek instead, and cringed when she felt the heat that was emanating from his skin.

"He's burning up."

Digging into her pocket, Pan found the capsule that still held the cloak Piccolo had made for her so long ago. Clicking it open, she retrieved the warm, heavy garment and draped it lightly over Dende. Grimacing, Piccolo knelt beside her, and, with more tenderness than she had thought him capable, he tucked the ends of the blanket around Dende's body and stood, the smaller Namekian cradled in his arms.

_Let's go._

As they left the prison cell, Pan resisted the urge to throw a few well-aimed _ki_ blasts all around the room; she managed the restraint only by reminding herself that she had to conserve energy. Still, she vowed that when all this was over, she would come back here and blast this place until not even ashes were left.

She owed Dende that much.

They were halfway across the lab when the door to the hallway was blown off its hinges. For a brief moment she entertained the hope that Android 18 had come to get them out, but when the smoke cleared it was all Pan could do not to sink to her knees in despair.

There, in the doorway, stood Dr. Gero.


	11. History Repeats

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They're exhausted and hurt, their allies are gone, and Gero has them cornered. Nothing short of a miracle can save them now. Fortunately, however, miracles seem to run in the family.

They were going to die.

That was the foremost thought in Piccolo's head as they stared down the madman. He tried to come up with a plan, an alternative, anything, but they were out of options. Android 18 had failed, and he and Pan were both too spent to hold their own. Their efforts had been in vain.

He'd let Gohan down. He'd led his best friend's daughter into danger, failed to protect her when she'd needed help, and worst of all, she wasn't the only one Piccolo had failed. The likelihood of Pan being killed along with him was bad enough, but far worse was the thought that Dende would be kept alive, subjected to horrors that might very well make death the preferable alternative. At the sight of Gero he had begun to shake violently, hiding his face in the front of Piccolo's gi, and Piccolo tightened his arms protectively around the younger Namekian.

Not that it would make much difference at this point.

Gero was speaking again. Piccolo might not have been able to hear the words, but he could see the gleeful malice in the human-turned-android's normally cold eyes, and it frightened him. Not of dying – he had not feared death since the day he had hatched – but of what would happen to those left behind, the horrors that they would have to face because he had not been strong enough.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Pan drop into a fighting stance. Inwardly, he praised her: though it was possible – no, likely – that they would lose, they must not go down without giving it everything they had. It was the only way he would be able to look Gohan in the face when they met again.

Piccolo started to lower Dende onto the nearest available table so that he could join Pan. As soon as Dende realized his intentions, however, his eyes filled with terror and he clung with Piccolo's gi with all of his failing strength.

_I have to put you down_ , Piccolo sent, hoping against hope that Dende had retained some shred of his reason through the terror and the pain. _We have a better chance of winning if Pan and I fight together, and I can't fight if I'm carrying you._

Meanwhile, Gero was laughing. He began to speak again, sweeping his arm in a gesture that encompassed the entire lab, indicating the tables around them, the bloody instruments, and, finally, Dende. If Piccolo had ever had any hope of successfully disentangling him it was now gone; tears were leaking from Dende's closed eyes as he clung harder than ever.

Piccolo was briefly distracted from Dende when he felt a spike in Pan's _ki_. It was low, little more than a blip, and it flickered out an instant later, but it had definitely been there. Looking at her, Piccolo saw that her demeanor had shifted from fear to anger. Her brows drew down in a scowl and she stepped forward aggressively, replying to whatever Gero had said with words of her own. Her retort, however, only caused him to laugh again, and before anyone else could blink he had phased in front of Piccolo and hit him across the jaw.

Piccolo couldn't react in time. He lost his hold on Dende as he flew backwards with the force of the punch, colliding with one of the tables so hard that his back screamed out in pain. For a second his vision was filled with bursts of bright light, but that was the least of his worries – no sooner had he hit the floor than a hard punch landed in his midsection, followed by a rapid series of blows to other parts of his body. He managed to get his arms up in time to block some, but many more hit their intended targets. That Gero did not actually grab him was cold comfort – he probably did not have enough energy left at this point to be worth stealing.

Then, just as suddenly as it had begun, it stopped. As Piccolo's vision cleared he saw Pan picking herself up from the base of a wall – she must have tried to come to his aid – and Gero kneeling on the floor, next to the trembling and now-defenseless Dende. As Piccolo watched he reached out a hand and, smiling sadistically as he said something Piccolo could not hear, caressed Dende's forehead, lingering particularly long on the scars where his antennae used to be.

Snarling, Piccolo forced himself to his feet – he would not, _could_ not, let this continue – but was stopped abruptly by a sudden spike of _ki_.

Pan, across the room from him, was back on her feet. Her _ki_ level was skyrocketing – and it didn't feel like it was going to stop anytime soon. Her normally gentle face was contorted into a mask of rage; sparks flashed about her body as she strode toward Gero, and Piccolo knew what was going to happen a split second before it did…

Pan screamed. He didn't need to hear that cry of rage and despair; he _felt_ it reverberating through his body on a level that was deeper than sound, deeper even than _ki_. As Pan continued to pour all of her hopeless need and desperation into that scream, her hair began to flash gold, black, gold, black…

Gold again. And this time, it stayed that way.

She flickered out of sight, and in a movement too fast to follow she was in front of Gero and had knocked him away from Dende's prone form so hard he slammed into the wall opposite, leaving a dent. Unfortunately, the damage to Gero's mechanical body was not as significant: he got to his feet, slowly, and he no longer looked even faintly amused.

Ignoring him for the moment in spite of the danger he posed, Pan fixed on Piccolo with eyes that were hauntingly blue. She made a gesture at Dende, who was struggling to rise, and then jerked her head toward the door.

Piccolo got the message. Limping over to where she stood, he knelt to pick up Dende; Gero attempted another assault but was swatted aside, effortlessly, by Pan. The last he saw of them as he carried Dende out of the lab was Pan effortlessly catching hold of Gero's wrist as he tried to grab onto her.

As quickly as he could, he made his way back to the entrance. He had just reached the end of the hallway when a tugging on his gi caught his attention. Looking down, he realized that Dende was speaking.

_I can't hear you_ , he sent. _There was an explosion earlier that damaged my ears, and I haven't recovered enough energy to regenerate._

Dende lifted his hand and pointed, shakily, to the wall. _Ki… field…_ Even this close, his mental voice was shaky and faint. _Turn… off…_

Piccolo walked over to the wall he had indicated. Seeing a lever set into the wall he reached out for it and, at Dende's nod, pulled it down.

He was just about to leave when something on the floor caught his attention. Looking more closely, he saw that it was Android 18. She was not moving, she was not breathing (thought Piccolo had always been unclear on whether one such as her even needed to breathe), and her eyes were open, a look of surprise etched onto her face.

His first thought was to leave her. The situation was urgent, and he could not spare the time to retrieve a dead body. But… he couldn't be sure that she actually _was_ dead. She functioned differently than an ordinary human; there was a small chance that she might be able to wake up again.

Given that she had helped them out, Piccolo thought that he owed her that chance.

Shifting Dende's weight slightly to free one of his arms, Piccolo knelt down and picked her up. Her body was stiff – not with rigor mortis, but with the same unyielding rigidity of a machine. Settling her over his shoulder, he jumped to the ground.

Piccolo barely had enough energy to stop himself from plummeting to all of their deaths. By the time his feet touched earth he was panting for breath. Seeing the condition he was in, Dende raised a shaky hand, but Piccolo grabbed his wrist before he could do anything more – Dende's _ki_ was dangerously low.

_Don't even think about it_ , he warned. _My life isn't in danger – but yours will be if you try to do any healing right now._

A look of pained resignation crossed Dende's face, and he allowed his hand to drop. He never had liked to see anyone in pain, but he understood just as well as Piccolo did that some times called for necessary sacrifices. This was one of those times.

Still limping severely, Piccolo began to walk away from the lab. For the moment, he had no plan – only to put as much distance as possible between them and Gero. To walk away from a fight rankled, and leaving Pan to fend for herself was even worse – but Dende needed help, immediately. Reaching out with his mind, he managed to make contact with one of the few other natural telepaths on the planet.

_Piccolo?_ Korin's response was instant; apparently he had been anticipating the call. _What's up?_

As quickly as possible, Piccolo explained the situation.

_Bring him here_ , Korin said immediately. _I can patch him up, and it's closer than Capsule Corp._

Piccolo gave him a quick affirmative and cut the connection, only to find that Dende was frantically trying to get his attention.

_Pan…_ Dende's face was screwed up in concentration; without his antennae, it was taking everything he had just to make himself heard. _Needs help…_

Alarmed, Piccolo reached out with his senses – only to find that Pan's _ki_ hadn't dropped at all. If anything, it was higher than ever. Against all odds, she seemed to be winning the fight.

_What are you talking about, Dende?_

Dende shook his head. _Hear…_ He took a few deep breaths, obviously trying to focus. _…in trouble… bad… help her…_ The younger Namekian was now shaking violently in his arms.

_Dende, I will not drag you back into battle with me! Nor can I leave you out here, alone, without any defenses!_

_Piccolo, please…_

At that moment, the solution presented itself. To be more specific, it presented itself in the form of a small, golden cloud that was wandering around aimlessly, much like a puppy that had lost its master.

Piccolo had his doubts as to whether it would respond to anyone not of Goku's blood, but Nimbus came when he called out with his mind. For the first time in his life, he wondered whether the thing could actually think – did it have a will of its own?

Gently, he lowered Dende onto the cloud. Piccolo's arms passed through Nimbus as though through a mist, but it supported Dende's weight as solidly as any rock.

Android 18 he set on the ground. She was strong, and a warrior besides. If by some miracle she was still alive, she could survive on her own for another few minutes. He returned his attention to the cloud.

Goku and Gohan had never needed to give the Nimbus verbal commands; it had obeyed their thoughts, without even the need for telepathy. Piccolo had no idea whether this would work – but he had to try.

_Listen_ , he sent to the cloud, feeling ridiculous. He shook off the feeling; this was no time for pride. _I know that you won't obey one such as me. But he needs your help, and he's in no shape to direct you himself. So please, take him to Korin's Tower._

For a second, the cloud merely hovered… but then it floated higher into the air, and it was going in the right direction. It was moving at merely a fraction of the speed of which Piccolo knew it was capable – a speed which the barely-conscious Dende would be able to handle.

Perhaps it _could_ think.

Dismissing thoughts of the cloud, Piccolo turned back toward the lab. He no longer had the strength to fly, so when he reached the entrance he hyperextended his arm and grabbed hold of the doorframe, retracting the arm to pull himself up.

The first room was just as he'd left it. Pan's _ki_ was emanating from the direction of the hallway, so she and Gero must still be fighting in the lab. Limping worse than ever, Piccolo set off in that direction.

He didn't know what he expected to see when he reached the lab, but the first thing he saw was Pan. She was standing with her back to the hallway, her aura blazing, her golden hair straining against its bonds as the ends stuck out in spikes. A few more steps, and he was able to see Gero as well.

Gero was lying on the floor. His hands – both of those horrible, deadly hands – had been ripped from his body, leaving nothing but protruding wires. As Piccolo watched he picked himself up off the ground and shifted his weight as if to lunge, only to be slammed into the nearest table by a _ki_ blast from Pan.

Something was wrong.

Gero got up, only to smash into the ground again as another blast hit him in the chest. Sparks were dancing all around his body.

Pan was stronger than this.

Why was he still alive?

_Pan_ , he sent. She turned her head, just enough to fix Piccolo with a single, blue eye. _Finish it._

She turned toward him fully then, idly striking Gero with another _ki_ blast that drove him once again into the floor but did not kill him. Her face was a mask, her features twisted with rage, a steady trickle of hot tears dripping from her eyes only to be immediately boiled away by the force of her _ki_.

She looked so much like Gohan in that moment.

Her mouth moved. That blue-eyed glare was now turned fully on Piccolo, and even though he could not hear the words he somehow knew exactly what she was saying.

_He will suffer his share when he reaches the afterlife. But that judgment is not yours to make. Finish him, now._

Pan spoke again, her brows drawing down into a harsh scowl. Piccolo was well aware of the danger he was putting himself in by confronting such a powerful being in his currently weakened state, but he did not back down. Not to seek his own death was not the only promise he'd made.

_Right now, the only one you're hurting is yourself._ He paused, and recalled a very painful memory. _Trust me, Pan. If your father were here, he would tell you the same._

Pan glared at him, and for a moment, Piccolo thought that he was going to be on the receiving end of her next blast. He braced himself – if she hit him with even a fraction of the force with which she'd hit Gero, he would not survive – but then she turned, hand held palm outward, back to the inner lab. Gero tried to scramble away, but it was too late for him – a single, enormous _ki_ blast shot from her hand, and when the smoke cleared all that was left of Dr. Gero was a smoking crater on the floor of the lab.

_Good._ He stepped toward her, and took it as a good sign that he was not hit by a similar blast. _Now power down._ She was still glaring, her chest heaving, her shoulders shaking with emotion. _Power down, Pan_ , he repeated, as gently as he could. _There's no one left here for you to fight._

For a second, she did not move, did not show any reaction at all. Piccolo did not speak again; something was telling him that he should wait.

Then, Pan let out a sigh. Her aura dissipated. Her hair darkened and settled, the spikes flattening down against her head. The blue leached out of her eyes, which faded to the same dark color they'd always been.

More pronounced than the physical transformation, however, was the hatred that fell away from her face, as visibly as if she'd removed a mask. In that instant, she went from a glowing golden monster back to the strong and sensitive woman Piccolo had only just gotten to know. Her bottom lip trembled. Her eyes filled with tears.

And then, before he could do anything to stop it, Pan had fallen against him, wrapping her arms firmly around his waist and burying her face in his chest.

Piccolo was not someone who either invited or enjoyed unnecessary physical contact. This time, however, he did not push her away. Instead, because there was no one else to do it, he put one hand on her shoulder and another on her back, and held her awkwardly as she sobbed into the front of his gi.

And somewhere in the back of his mind, so faintly that he later wondered whether he'd imagined it, he heard Gohan's voice.

_Thank you._


	12. Loose Ends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With all battles ended, it's time for our heroes to return home to nurse their wounds and bury their dead.

"I never thought I'd be able to do it."

Pan's encapsulated supplies had included a small plane. Once they had made it outside again (and Piccolo had confirmed with Korin that Dende was safe), they had loaded in Android 18's body and Pan had flown them back to Capsule Corp. No sooner had they landed on the lawn than the adrenaline ran out and Pan had all but collapsed from exhaustion and the multiple injuries she'd sustained.

Now, she was in the Capsule Corp. infirmary. Uncle Goten was sitting on one side of her bed, while Piccolo (who'd refused treatment, claiming that he was already well on his way to healing) leaned against the wall on the other. Android 18 was in the lab where her great-grandson, who also happened to be the youngest Briefs heir, was trying to determine whether she could be revived.

"Grandpa Goku kept wondering when I was going to go Super Saiyan," she continued when no one answered. "He never did figure out why I couldn't. I always thought that it was because I was more human than Saiyan, that I just didn't have the capability."

"Your father thought differently." She turned towards her uncle, who looked pensive – which was quite unusual for him.

"My father and brother always said that the transformation had to arise from a need," he continued. "You always had the potential, but you were born in times of peace, and the Earth has been at peace for most of your life. You've never needed to transform before, and so you didn't.

"The need required… is usually dire." Uncle Goten's eyes went out of focus, as if he were looking at something far in the distance, and his face took on a hard expression that she had never seen before. "The first time your grandfather transformed," he said quietly, "was right after Frieza murdered his best friend. Seeing Piccolo almost die – twice – was what set Gohan off."

"I see." She looked down at her hands. "And you?" she asked quietly, not sure whether the question was too personal but needing to know all the same.

To her surprise, however, Uncle Goten looked sheepish. "I was… um… training with my mom…"

Pan gave him a look, dearly hoping that this wasn't his idea of a joke.

"What?" he asked, spreading his hands in a defensive gesture as Pan continued to stare in disbelief and Piccolo snorted. "Did _you_ ever spar with your grandmother? She was a scary lady."

"…and Uncle Trunks?" she asked, still unsure whether to laugh or facepalm.

"He trained with his dad."

"…never mind." _That_ she had no trouble believing; she had met Mr. Briefs, after all.

They were interrupted when the door opened, and Android 18's great-grandson entered the infirmary. Bakosel Briefs was a slender young man with a face like Yamcha's, dark blue hair that he wore in a long ponytail, and Android 18's icy blue eyes. Currently, those eyes were downcast.

Immediately, Uncle Goten's face took on a more serious look, and Pan sat up straighter in bed. "Is she—?"

Slowly, the youth shook his head. "Her mechanical and biological systems were too interdependent after all the upgrades," he said dully. He looked as if he were about to cry. "She can only live if both of them are functioning. And her mechanical side – it wasn't just suspended, it was completely shut down. I can't fix her." With that he sat down, hard, on the nearest available bed, and buried his face in his hands.

"Bakosel…" Pan had her mouth open, but realized that she could think of absolutely nothing to say. Bakosel was the only living person who'd been in any way close to Android 18. "I'm sorry," she said, finding it wholly inadequate. "We tried." He nodded his understanding, face still in his hands. "The Dragon Balls—"

_Don't you dare._

With the exception of Piccolo, they all jumped in surprise. "#18?" Pan and Uncle Goten said simultaneously, at the same time as Bakosel blurted, "Great-grandmother?"

_Don't you dare use the Dragon Balls to wish me back to life_ , she continued as though they hadn't spoken at all. _I've just gotten to see Krillin for the first time in over fifty years, and you are_ not _going to take him away from me again._

In spite of the situation, Pan found herself smiling. Android 18 really had loved Uncle Krillin – even if she hadn't always shown it.

"Are… are you sure?" Bakosel still looked ready to burst into tears.

_Of course I'm sure._ Her voice softened marginally. _Kai, let me talk to just him._

The rest of them heard no more of the conversation, but Bakosel's eyes went out of focus and he occasionally nodded or shook his head, his shoulders still slumped. The rest of them all attempted to focus on something else, anything else, but the Capsule Corp. infirmary had a very boring interior, and speaking out loud seemed like it would be out of place during this strangely solemn moment.

Finally, though, Bakosel's eyes came back into focus, and he let out a sigh. Though he still looked pained, his face now held resignation – and acceptance.

"I'm going to hold a funeral for her," he said, looking at them again. His gaze was just as intense as Android 18's. "I'll notify you when the arrangements are made."

Pan nodded. She had the thought that she should say something – but to her surprise, it was Piccolo who spoke.

"She died a good death, and she lived longer than most. Do not begrudge her this decision if it is what's best for her."

To Pan's surprise, Bakosel stood, straightening his shoulders. "I'll try to remember that, sir." He began to leave the infirmary, but right as he reached the door he paused and looked back. "And… thank you."

Piccolo only nodded. But as the door swung shut behind Bakosel, Pan managed to pick up another one of his stray thoughts.

_I only wish I had the same option._

* * *

Bakosel must have sent the Capsule Corp. doctor back in, for he returned almost immediately after the youth had left. Aside from the severe fatigue, he informed them, Pan had also suffered several fractures, in addition to multiple strains on her muscles and joints which she was no longer of an age to ignore. She was, however, expected to make a full recovery with plenty of rest and proper treatment.

When the doctor pulled out a needle Uncle Goten flinched violently and quickly looked away, and Pan's broken ribs were the only thing that kept her from bursting out laughing – he was so much like Grandpa Goku. Pan, for her part, didn't even flinch when the doctor injected her with something he said would help her sleep – compared to the other injuries she had endured over the past few days, she could barely even feel the tiny pinprick.

Uncle Goten – once Piccolo acidly informed him that it was safe to look – stayed by her side until she drifted off. To her surprise, Piccolo did as well, though he claimed he was only waiting until he regained the strength to fly.

Still, she was glad he was there.

It didn't take long for the drug to take effect, and shortly after she drifted off, Pan dreamed. It was a memory, an old one. She couldn't have been much over the age of three, and later on she would never be sure how much had really happened and what her mind had added in of its own accord.

_It was late at night. She'd spent the day training with Grandpa Goku, and he'd kept her sparring until she was ready to collapse from exhaustion. After he'd brought her home she'd stayed awake just long enough to eat dinner, shoveling in plate after plate of food while Mommy watched in disbelief and Daddy laughed. Halfway through her fifth plate, however, her eyes had begun to drift closed and Mommy had picked her up, chiding Grandpa Goku for pushing her so hard. Grandpa Goku had only laughed sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head. She'd managed a sleepy "goodnight" to him and Daddy before Mommy had carried her upstairs and tucked her into bed._

_Now, however, she was awake again. She'd woken up thirsty, as she often did after a long day of training, and she wouldn't be able to sleep again until the dryness in her mouth was gone. So she crept downstairs and back to the kitchen, being careful not to wake Mommy on the way. Daddy would still be up, and he was used to this; he wouldn't mind. He'd get her a glass of water, tell her a story about his adventures with Mr. Piccolo or Uncle Krillin while she drank it, pat her on the head when she was finished and carry her back to bed, where he'd tuck her in and sit beside her until she fell asleep again. It was becoming a ritual of theirs._

_When she reached the kitchen, however, she heard voices: Grandpa Goku was still there, and he was talking with Daddy. She hesitated, hiding behind the doorframe, wondering whether she should wait for him to leave. She liked Grandpa Goku, but this was_ their _ritual. She didn't want to share it with anyone but Daddy._

_Then, she realized they were talking about her._

_"…turning out to be quite the little warrior, isn't she?" Daddy was saying. She peered around the doorframe to see them both sitting at the kitchen table. He laughed. "I'm glad she's enjoying it."_

_Grandpa Goku smiled, but then he looked down and away from Daddy, rubbing the back of his neck. "Gohan," he started, "I'm sorry things couldn't have been different for you—"_

_Daddy cut him off before he could get any further. "Father," he said, holding up a hand, "don't. I might not have had the childhood I would have chosen for myself, but… I'm glad things happened the way they did. I'm strong enough to protect the people I love, now." He smiled faintly. "And… I never would have met Piccolo, otherwise."_

_"Yeah, I suppose if not for you Piccolo would still be out there trying to take over the world. Who would have thought?" Grandpa Goku smiled as well, but his expression grew concerned when he saw the wistful look in Daddy's eyes. "Speaking of Piccolo, I haven't seen him around in a while. Would you like me to stop by the Lookout before I go home?" he offered. "I could tell him you'd like it if he came to visit…"_

_Daddy, however, shook his head. "Piccolo isn't really the visiting type, Dad. He'll see me again when he's ready." Grandpa Goku sighed, but didn't push the matter. "Anyway," Daddy continued, "how's Pan doing?"_

_"Oh man, you wouldn't believe her!" Grandpa Goku said happily, and Pan felt herself swell under the praise. "I wouldn't be surprised if she's the next World Champion! Still…" He tapped his chin pensively, black hair sticking up in all directions. Grandpa Goku always looked so funny when he tried to think. "At the rate she's coming along, I'm surprised she hasn't gone Super Saiyan yet."_

_Daddy, who had been smiling a moment before, suddenly clenched his fist, and his eyes grew hard. It was the closest she had ever seen him come to a glare, and the first time she had seen him look at Grandpa Goku with anything other than love and respect._

_"I hope she never does," he stated fiercely._

* * *

He waited until Pan's breathing evened out, and then until her eyes started moving about beneath their lids. Taking the time to surreptitiously study her face, Piccolo noted that her lips were curved in a faint smile: this wasn't a nightmare. Good.

Then, and only then, did he move from his place by the wall. He had nearly reached the door when Goten spoke.

"You've been able to fly for a while now." Looking back, he saw that his former student now wore a mischievous grin that was reminiscent of his father's. "Haven't you."

He scowled. Goten's grin only widened, and Piccolo wished dearly for the days when the aggravating brat could be properly intimidated by a good slap upside the head.

"Don't worry, I won't tell anyone." Goten probably knew that the presence of his sleeping niece was the only thing that kept him from being blasted straight to Otherworld – he just didn't care. Before Piccolo could decide whether to punch him or strangle him, however, Goten's face grew solemn as his gaze drifted back to Pan. "But I think you should at least tell her."

Piccolo only grunted, turning back to the door. "If she wakes before I get back, tell her that I've gone to check on Dende. I'll return sometime tomorrow."

She knew.

Didn't she?

* * *

Once again, Piccolo arrived at the Tower only to find Korin already standing outside.

"Now just what did I tell you about those senzu?" he asked just as soon as Piccolo reached the level of the balcony.

Piccolo snarled, wondering whether the cat was making it his life's mission to aggravate him. "If I told you we had no choice, would that even penetrate your thick skull?"

"Probably not." Korin turned and walked back into the Tower, motioning with his free hand for Piccolo to follow. "Well don't just hover there, come in."

He obeyed with a scowl. His annoyance began to fade, however, when Korin led him to a small room off the main part of the Tower, where Dende had been laid out on a pallet on the floor. The younger Namekian had obviously been treated with care; he wore fresh clothes, now, the dirt and grime were gone from his body, his wounds had been carefully cleaned, and there was a glass of water within easy reach.

"The fever should break on its own," Korin said quietly as Piccolo settled down cross-legged next to him. "But I must admit I don't know what to do about his antennae. Namekian regenerative abilities are outside my realm of expertise."

"I'll see if Kami or Nail knows anything. If that doesn't work, I'll ask King Kai to put me in touch with someone on New Namek."

"I suppose that's as good a plan as any." Korin stretched. "Look, would you do me a favor and stay here tonight? Dende's been getting really jumpy whenever he wakes up, and he's still not lucid most of the time. I think he'd appreciate it."

Piccolo nodded. "That was my intention."

"Oh, so you just came up here planning to invite yourself into my home? Well, don't let me stop you."

He gritted his teeth. This was going to be a _long_ night.

* * *

"P-Piccolo?"

He cracked one eye. Dende was awake and looking right at him, with eyes that were no longer clouded by fever.

"Yeah. I'm here."

"Where—"

"Korin's Tower. I had Nimbus bring you here after we got you out."

Slowly, Dende reached a hand up to his forehead, wincing when his fingers came in contact with the raw sores where his antennae used to be. "I was hoping it was just a nightmare I had while I was sick," he said quietly.

Piccolo said nothing. There was nothing to say.

"Is Pan…?"

"Injured, but she'll recover. You ought to be worrying about yourself." He gestured to the glass of water. "Drink something."

Seeing the water, Dende used one hand to push himself into a sitting position and grabbed the glass with the other. He then brought it to his lips and downed the contents, not stopping until the glass was empty. When he finished he let out a gasp; he had not stopped drinking even long enough to breathe.

Wordlessly, Piccolo picked up the glass and left the room to refill it. When he returned, it was to find Dende still sitting up, staring at the opposite wall.

"He'd come up with a new technique for creating androids." Slowly, he turned his head to look at Piccolo. "Gero. But none of the humans he'd kidnapped could survive what he was doing to them." His face was hard. "They could only stay alive if they were constantly healed. And he… he made me…" Dende looked away, his hands clenching into fists.

There was nothing Piccolo could say to make the situation better. Instead, he laid a heavy hand on Dende's shoulder and tried to say through the contact what no amount of words could convey.

_I'm here. As long as you need me, I'm here._


	13. Towards Healing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just because they won, that doesn't mean it's over. Now, everyone is struggling to achieve closure. Fortunately, they're all there to help each other along the way.

Pan sat cross-legged in the main room of Korin's Tower, just one point in a triangle formed by herself, Piccolo, and Dende. Korin stood slightly to the side of the group.

Thanks to Dende Pan was as good as new again; he had insisted on healing her as soon as he had regained his full strength, claiming it was the least he could do in return for rescuing him. She only wished the Lookout could have been fixed as easily: the two Namekians would be guests in Korin's Tower until they could use the Dragon Balls to restore their permanent home.

The reason they were here today, however, was because of some damage that could hopefully be fixed sooner. Pan turned her full attention to Piccolo, aware that Dende and Korin were doing the same.

"Going by what I've learned from Nail's memories," he began, "there are two options for restoring Dende's antennae. All we need do is remove the scar tissue, and he should be able to regenerate them immediately. Given the location of the injury, however, that process is likely to be extremely painful. Our other option is to wait until the Dragon Balls have recharged. Since we need to bring Popo back anyway, we could fix the Lookout by hand and use the second wish to return Dende to normal—"

"Do it now," Dende said immediately. His hand drifted, once again, up to the twin scars, and he winced. "I don't think I can stand this for another nine months. It—it's like I've gone deaf, I can't _feel_ anyone. I don't care how much it hurts, I just want to be back to normal." Piccolo nodded, accepting his decision.

"Pan," Piccolo said, turning to her. "Can you do it?"

"I… could," Pan replied, startled. "But…"

"I could as well." Korin stepped forward, and Pan shot him a grateful smile, knowing he must have sensed her reluctance. "I was tending all sorts of wounds hundreds of years before any of you were even thought of – we didn't always have senzu beans, you know."

"I'll stop by Capsule Corp.," Pan said. "You should at least have some painkillers—"

Dende, however, shook his head. "I think that would be a bad idea."

When he did not elaborate further, she looked to Piccolo. "Drugs meant for humans would likely have a different effect on us," he explained. "Using them in this case could be potentially dangerous."

"I think that the reason I got so sick was because Gero was drugging me with… something," Dende continued quietly. "That's an experience I don't want to repeat." He shook his head. "Please, don't worry about me." Dende smiled at Pan, who was still fairly unhappy with the situation – and probably visibly so. "I'll be fine, just as long as it's quick."

In the end, Dende was unable to hold back his screams. Piccolo had to hold him down, and Pan grasped his hand while Korin did what was necessary. Fortunately, Korin knew what he was doing, and he moved fast. It was over within minutes, and when Dende sat up again he was very shaky, but managed to re-grow his antennae immediately. He gave a sigh of relief as he brushed a hand against his forehead.

"Well whaddaya know?" Korin said. "It worked."

Dende closed his eyes. There was a brief moment of silence, but then another straying thought of Piccolo's brushed across her mind:

_Yeah, I can hear you just fine._

"It worked!" Dende gave a shaky laugh. He seemed about to say something else, but then his eyes widened in horror as his eyes landed on her. "Pan – oh no, I'm sorry!"

She looked at her arm, which was now dripping blood from where Dende's claws had dug into her wrist. "Don't worry about it," she reassured him. "Trust me, it looks worse than it is."

"Still—!" Dende gestured for her to come closer, and, more to appease him than because she truly needed the healing, Pan laid her hand palm-up in his, and stayed still while he moved his other hand over her wrist. When the healing glow faded, the marks were gone.

"Really, it's all right," she repeated, turning her wrist to show him the now-unbroken skin. "See? No harm done." She smiled. "I can take a few scratches if it means getting you back to normal. Besides," she added, her smile fading, "you were in a lot more pain than I was."

"It was worth it," Dende said fervently. "Thank you – all of you."

* * *

A few days later found Pan standing in the yard of her uncle's house – again.

"You have to focus on the need, Pan."

Briefly, she paused, and allowed the energy she had been gathering to dissipate. "I thought that I was."

Uncle Goten, however, shook his head. "The transformation has to come from a need, not a desire. You can't get there just by powering up, and anger alone isn't going to do it either." He sighed, rubbing the back of his head. "Look, you've got the right idea. But… what was it that made you that angry in the first place?"

"Gero hurt Dende," she spat. "And he was threatening to do it again; he told me that he could do whatever he wanted, and we were too weak to stop him…"

"Exactly! That's it!" Uncle Goten was waving his cane around in his excitement. "Your anger arose from a need. You weren't strong enough to help your friends, but you desperately needed to do it, even at the cost of your own life. _That_ is what you need to focus on if you want to do it again."

Pan thought about what he had said. After a moment, she nodded and closed her eyes.

In her mind's eye, she returned to that battle in Gero's lab. She remembered Dende, shaking with terror in Piccolo's arms. She remembered the doctor, gloating about the deeds he had done without a hint of remorse. Piccolo, crashing into the table so hard she feared he would be paralyzed… Gero, slamming her into the wall effortlessly when she tried to come to his aid… Gero, gloating about the difference in their strengths as he reached out to softly caress Dende's forehead…

A molten rage had risen inside of her then, boiling up until it had spilled over and fueled her first transformation. Beneath her fury with Gero, however, there had been something else, something even more powerful. She had known, in that moment, that she and Piccolo were going to die, that Android 18 was likely already dead, that Dende was in the hands of a madman who would subject him to torments far worse than death… they had given him false hope with their failed attempt at rescue… It was then that the anger had overcome her, but it was not anger at Gero. It was her own self-loathing. She had let her friends down because she was not strong enough, and she had been willing to do anything, even at the cost of her life, to make it right.

Suddenly, she felt her aura change. New energy rushed into every limb as her body gained access to _ki_ reserves previously untapped. In front of her, she heard Uncle Goten's sudden intake of breath.

"Pan," he breathed. "Open your eyes. You have to see what this looks like."

He was holding up a mirror, and Pan could not help but let out a gasp of her own when she saw her reflection. The face looking back at her was still recognizably her own – but the change that had come over her was as awe-inspiring as it was frightening. The transformation went beyond the difference in hair and eye color – there was something in her aura, now, that spoke of tremendous power, and Pan could not help but wonder whether she looked more like an avenging angel or a fearsome monster.

She had, of course, seen multiple people do this before – Grandpa Goku, Uncle Goten, Uncle Trunks, Mr. Briefs – and it had never failed to leave her in awe. She had long ago given up on accomplishing it herself.

Now that she'd done it, however, she could finally understand why her father had said what he had all those years ago.

* * *

Piccolo was meditating when Pan arrived at Korin's Tower. He did not change position when she poked her head up through the floor, but grunted to acknowledge her presence.

"I just got a call from Bakosel." Piccolo opened one eye. "His people are finished cleaning out Gero's lab, and they've extracted all the useful information they could get." If they were lucky, Gero's records would be sufficient for them to find out whether there were any more dangerous androids on the loose.

Hopefully, they would also be able to identify the people he had kidnapped and notify their families.

Wordlessly, Piccolo stood. In equal silence, he followed her as she led the way back to Gero's lab.

They did not suppress their _ki_ this time; there was no need. Flying at high power, they reached the lab in no time at all.

Nothing had changed. The door in the mountainside was still broken, and the _ki_ -draining field had been permanently deactivated, but other than that the place was exactly as it had been the first time they had come here. Now, Pan took the time to notice things that she had not had the leisure to observe before: it was quiet here, unnaturally so. There was no birdsong, no rustling of small creatures going about their business; it was almost as if the animals could sense the evil of this place. No grass grew where the _ki_ -draining field had been.

Pan took all of this in at a glance as they reentered the lab, but the condition of the outside was immediately pushed from her mind as they landed, and chills began to run down her spine upon seeing the interior again. The place had been sinister enough when it was occupied, but this absolute silence was somehow worse. The machinery that had been powered on stolen energy was now dark and quiet, and the crushing silence that reigned in place of the whirring computers and flashing lights was somehow much, much worse. It felt almost haunted, and Pan couldn't shake the feeling that the doctor's vengeful spirit lurked in every shadowy corner.

By silent agreement, they walked side by side down the hallway that led to the inner lab, neither pulling ahead of the other. When they reached the middle of the room they stopped simultaneously and turned so they were standing back-to-back.

This was where they had found Dende.

He had been tortured…

…mutilated…

…forced to aid Gero in his sick experiments…

Pan released her power.

She felt the change, and knew without having to be told that she had become a Super Saiyan once again. Behind her, Piccolo was also powering up to his maximum.

They started throwing _ki_ blasts.

She didn't worry about what would happen if they brought down the mountain. It would take a lot more than being buried under tons of rubble to hurt a Super Saiyan, and she knew for a fact that Piccolo had survived much worse.

Pan concentrated on the tables, hitting them with _ki_ blasts so powerful they disintegrated on impact. Behind her, Piccolo was using smaller bursts to knock instruments and spare android parts from the ceiling, then blasting them to smithereens while they were still in the air. More than a few stray _ki_ balls hit the walls hard enough to melt them, exposing rock; they didn't care. They kept going.

Finally, all that was left of the inner lab was a few piles of rubble, and the door in the back of the room. Backing into the hallway, they sent simultaneous _ki_ blasts into Dende's prison cell.

The mountain was shaking as they returned to the entrance. They stopped just long enough to throw a few more well-placed blasts at the computers and other equipment. There was a series of ear-shattering explosions.

_Not again_ , Piccolo grumbled irritably, rubbing his ear as they flew out the front door. A pained look crossed his face for a second, but then he let out a sigh of relief and Pan presumed that he'd managed to restore his hearing with no trouble this time.

They landed on the same hill where they'd first forced their entrance into the lab. Once again, they did not need to speak: both knew exactly what they were going to do. They dropped into fighting stances, Pan cupping her hands at her side while Piccolo brought two fingers to his forehead.

"Special…"

"Kame…"

"Beam…"

"Hame…"

"Cannon!"

"HA!"

Their ultimate attacks hit simultaneously. There was a loud explosion. Flames belched from the door of the lab. The entire mountain shuddered, once, before collapsing in on itself in a heap of rubble.

Dr. Gero's lab was no more.

* * *

When they returned to Korin's Tower, worn and covered in soot, the master's only comment was to raise an eyebrow and tell them they needed a bath. This drew a scowl from Piccolo and a smile from Pan.

Before they went their separate ways, Piccolo to the washroom and Pan to her house, they sought out Dende. He was sitting in quiet meditation in a corner of the main room with his staff across his knees, but opened his eyes as they approached.

"Thank you," he said quietly.

* * *

Piccolo and Pan sat across from each other atop the still-ruined Lookout. In spite of all the bad memories associated with this place, Piccolo had chosen it for reasons of privacy; he didn't want any interruptions.

With no small amount of help from Dende, they had finally strengthened their mental bond enough to achieve two-way communication. Pan, being fairly new to the art of telepathy, took some time to establish her end of the conversation, but Piccolo waited patiently. As soon as he felt her mind open to his, he began.

"No one has ever shared the details with you because it was your father's story to tell, and the memory was… a very painful one, for him. But I think, under the circumstances, he would want you to know."

He then opened his own mind and pulled forth his memories of the Cell Games, allowing her to watch them from beginning to end. He spared her no details; going soft on her now would only be counterproductive. Besides, Pan had already proven herself time and again over the course of their adventure. She did not need to be coddled.

Piccolo observed her as he sent the memories, and as she watched the battle through his eyes he saw her face change, cycling through apprehension and anger, finally settling on sorrow as the fight come to a head.

After the last memory faded, she was silent for a long time. Piccolo did not prompt her; she would speak when she was ready.

When she finally did break the silence, her voice was soft. "Dad was so young."

Piccolo nodded. "He was eleven."

"And Grandpa Goku… what was he _thinking?_ " Her fists clenched as she tried to reconcile the grandfather she had known with the one whose bad judgment had once broken her father's heart. Goku _hadn't_ been thinking – that was the problem.

"Do not judge your grandfather too harshly based on that memory." Piccolo made a conscious effort to soften his own voice – that was the one thing for which he had never forgiven Goku and probably never would, but Piccolo would not try to turn his grandchild against him for wrongs committed long before she was born. "Goku made a mistake – a grievous one – but it was never his intention to hurt his child as badly as he did."

Pan shook her head. "How could he not know?"

Piccolo sighed. "Goku… loved his family, but I do not think he understood the concept of commitment. All too often he chose his training over spending time with his son, and Gohan was left without a father for months or even years at a time. When they were reunited, most of the time they had together was spent either training or in battle. And Gohan was so naturally skilled, so determined to live up to his father's legacy, that somewhere along the line Goku got it into his head that his son was just like him, that he too craved battle with every fiber of his being, and that fighting the most powerful monster in the universe would be nothing more than a fun challenge for the boy. As you saw, he was quite wrong."

" _You_ knew, though," she said, looking up.

Piccolo did not answer. How could he tell her that, for as long as he had known Gohan, he had taken a larger part in raising him than the boy's own father? That, in some ways, Piccolo had gotten to know him far better than Goku had? That he had truly wanted to be Gohan's father, in the boy's heart if not by blood, but that in the end, Piccolo had never been what Gohan wanted or needed? No, it was Goku, always Goku, and even after seven years' absence he had chosen to wear Goku's colors in his final battle…

Out of nowhere, he heard a pained gasp, and he knew that somehow, Pan must have read his thoughts again. Looking at her, he saw with a shock that she had tears dripping down her face.

"Why in Kai's name do you keep crying like that?" he asked – perhaps more harshly than he'd intended.

"Because you won't." She shook her head. "I'm sorry, Piccolo. I'm so sorry that things didn't work out for both of you. But – Kami! – don't you see how many problems you could have solved if you'd just _talked_ to each other?"

"What was I to have said?" Piccolo asked angrily. "That I thought he was ungrateful, that I was not satisfied with what he had already given me?" He leaped to his feet. "Gohan gave me his love, freely, when anyone else on the planet would just as soon kill me as look at me – when I had given them good reason." Snarling, he turned away. "I would not have asked more of him – Gohan had already given me far more than I deserved."

"I didn't mean that." Pan's voice had softened considerably. He heard her get up, slowly, and come to stand just behind him, but he did not turn his head. "But if you'd just told him how much you loved him—"

All at once, the anger rushed out of him, leaving only an empty feeling in its place. "It's too late for that."

"I know." She sniffled. "And that's why I'm so sad for both of you."

* * *

"Let's go back down."

For a minute, she thought he wasn't going to answer. He had spent several minutes not moving, standing ramrod straight and staring out at nothing; even his cape failed to billow out behind him in its usual dramatic manner. And, when he finally did turn his head, Pan was sure that he would tell her to go without him, that he would want to be left alone.

To her surprise, however, he gave a slight nod. They jumped off the edge of the Lookout together, Pan pulling slightly ahead of him in her haste. Piccolo looked at her curiously but did not speak.

She had gotten to know Piccolo well enough in the past few weeks to know that if she tried to apologize outright, he would not accept it. Nevertheless, she had to do something to make this right.

Dende was standing on the balcony of Korin's Tower. He was leaning forward slightly, resting his forearms on the railing. His eyes were closed, and a smile of pleasure graced his face as the breeze swirled around him.

His expression turned slightly more solemn as the two of them descended to his level. "Piccolo," he greeted them neutrally. "Pan." He knew better than to ask how things had gone. "Do you want to come in?"

"Yes," Pan responded before Piccolo could answer. Thankfully, he followed without argument when she swooped down to join Dende on the balcony. "Dende, I have a question for you. You're an expert in telepathy, right?"

"Well, yes." Dende took a moment to retrieve his staff before leading them inside. "It's a very important part of Namekian culture. I haven't undergone any official training, but if there's a question you have I ought to be able to answer it."

"Well," Pan plunged on before she could lose her nerve, "I keep overhearing Piccolo's thoughts without meaning to. I know he's not sending them deliberately, and if he's doing it by accident—"

"I'm not," Piccolo interrupted. "It's happened too many times for that to be the case. I have better control than that."

"I see." Dende looked pensive. "Can you remember the first time this happened?"

Piccolo crossed his arms. "Unless there's something she's not telling me, it was the first time we attempted to break into Gero's lab. Pan had managed to get to safety, but I ended up trapped—"

"I remember!" Pan said excitedly, bringing a fist down into her open palm. "That was the first time you ever spoke to me telepathically. You told me to get out of there, and not to come back for you."

"That's interesting." Dende was gripping his chin with one hand, and he seemed to be looking somewhere very far away. "That's very interesting."

"Care to enlighten us?" Piccolo asked drily – but there was no hint of malice in his voice.

"Of course, I apologize." Dende snapped back to the present. "Pan, you're an empath."

This statement was met with two blank stares. "I'm a what?"

"Don't worry, it's nothing bad." Dende smiled reassuringly. "Am I correct in saying that you're naturally adept at reading others' feelings?" Pan nodded. "And do you often feel another person's emotions as if they were your own?"

"It happens all the time." Pan's voice came out so quietly it was barely a whisper.

Dende nodded. "Being an empath means being in tune with others' emotions. Once you were introduced to telepathy, this made you a natural receiver. Couple that with the fact that Piccolo is a particularly strong sender, and it was fairly inevitable that this would happen once your minds had connected."

"Is there any way I can stop?" Pan asked, still quietly. "I don't want to eavesdrop."

"Fortunately, I can help you with that. I had the same problem back on Namek, before Moori trained me out of it." He smiled. "Just come here for an hour or so every day, and I ought to be able to teach you to close your mind."

Pan smiled, and then, before he could react, pulled Dende into a brief hug. "Thank you," she said, pulling away. "I'd really, really appreciate it."

"It isn't a problem, really. And I do admit, I could use the company. Korin can be kind of…" He came to an abrupt stop, apparently not wanting to insult his host, and Pan laughed.

They talked only a little longer before Pan decided that she really did need to get home. She had said her goodbyes to Dende and Korin and was just getting ready to jump off the balcony when she heard Piccolo's voice in her head.

_Pan._

She looked back, curious as to why he wasn't speaking out loud. He stood in the far corner of the room with his arms crossed, but for once, he was looking directly at her.

_Once you have learned how to shield your mind… you needn't do it with me._

Pan managed to suppress her shock – barely. Piccolo did not share his thoughts. Piccolo did not express his feelings. Piccolo was…

…Piccolo was hurting, and determined not to make the same mistake twice. He was offering to open up, in the only way he knew how.

Pan took the time to flash him a discrete smile before jumping into the air.


	14. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The bonds that they forged over the course of their journey will be lifelong. Nothing lasts forever, however, and eventually they're going to have to say goodbye.

Piccolo felt the approaching _ki_ long before she was within visual range. Mentally, he scolded her for making her presence so obvious, but he did not send the thought; Pan was an adult, and a master, and still one of the most powerful beings on the planet. She could make her own judgments.

Upon reaching the waterfall she greeted him with a friendly wave; he nodded in return. It had been a long time since he'd paid any particular attention to her appearance, but on this day Piccolo noted with a pang that her hair was now more gray than black, and that the fine lines at the corners of her eyes and mouth had deepened and spread. Ten years ago, he had helped her bury her uncle. All too soon, he knew, he would be burying her.

Pan did not hover, but allowed her aura to dissipate immediately as she landed atop a broad, flat rock by the side of the water. Seemingly oblivious to his thoughts, she sat on its edge before stretching and allowing herself to fall backward, sighing in contentment as the heat of the sun-drenched stone seeped into her back.

"Ah," she sighed, closing her eyes. "Life is good."

Piccolo grunted. "You're just like your father," he said. "He also excelled in making inane statements while lazing about on his back."

"Aw, give me a break." Pan smiled, cracking one eye – just one – in obvious imitation of him. Just like her grandfather, too; she would never completely grow up. "It was a long way to fly, and I'm tired." She sat up fully then, all humor vanishing from her face as she looked at him intently. "To be honest," she said, her voice going soft, "I don't think I'll be flying much longer at all. I want to enjoy it while I still can."

It hit him, then, a jolt through his chest that stopped just short of being physically painful. That had been the first sign with Gohan, with Goku and Vegeta, with everyone else of Saiyan blood Piccolo had ever known. Saiyans, bred as warriors for untold thousands of generations, spent the great majority of their lives in a perpetual youth – but when aging did begin, it hit hard and fast. Once Saiyans' _ki_ abilities began to fade, they did not tend to live long.

Not for the first time, Piccolo wondered bitterly why he kept allowing himself to _care_. Why had he come to love the child of his mortal enemy? Why had he grown so fond of Pan, even with the pain of losing Gohan fresh in his heart? Why could he not return to his life as the Demon King, when things were simple and he need not think of anyone but himself? And why, in the name of all that was holy, did he not _want_ to?

"Please don't be said," Pan said, as if reading his thoughts – which, he admitted, she probably was. "I've had a good life. And I'll get to see Mom and Dad again, Uncle Goten, Uncle Trunks…"

"Hmph. That's the same thing _he_ said."

"You're not as alone as you think," Pan continued earnestly. "You've got Dende, and Korin – and how many rematches have you and Android 17 _had?_ "

"Four hundred and thirty-six." Just as soon as #17 had managed to obtain all of the updates his sister had gotten, he had insisted on fighting Piccolo again. And then again after that. Much to Piccolo's chagrin, they appeared to be evenly matched – no matter how many times they sparred, there was never a clear winner.

Perhaps that was why both of them kept coming back for more.

"See?" Pan smiled, cocking her head to the side. "And if you ever want to meet anyone new, you're welcome to drop by my martial arts school in the city. I've got some promising students; I think you'd be surprised."

"You run a martial arts school?" Every day, it seemed, he was finding out something new about Pan – things he should have learned decades ago, when he still had time to get to know her. Now, that precious time was quickly running out.

"Yep." She swung her legs back and forth over the side of the rock, still acting much younger than her actual age. "I've mostly passed it on to my best students now, but I still come back to teach once in a while. I could even bring you in as a guest teacher, if you want."

"Hmph."

"Aw, come on," she teased. "It's the school I inherited from Grandpa Hercule."

"You say that as if you think it's an incentive."

Pan laughed easily. She had long since ceased being offended by what the older Z-fighters thought of her mother's father – especially since learning that most of what they said was true. Besides, according to her mother even Piccolo had once admitted that Grandpa Hercule was, in his own way, just as much of a hero as Grandpa Goku.

A few minutes of silence lapsed before Pan spoke again, and this time, her voice was uncharacteristically hesitant. "Piccolo?"

Normally, he would simply grunt to show he was listening. This time, however, there was something in her voice that compelled him to look at her, to tell her without words that she had his undivided attention. With a nod, he prompted her to continue.

"Do you think you could come and visit me once in a while, once I can't come to you anymore? Bakosel is a good friend," she continued, rambling, "but he's got a business to run, and Dende can't leave the Lookout for extended periods of time—"

"Pan," he said, cutting her off, "of course I will."

She smiled, then – the classic Son grin – and Piccolo was shocked to see that she had tears in her eyes. _I'm the only family she has left_ , he realized – Pan, an only child, had never married, and her uncle had died childless. Maybe – just maybe – he wasn't the only one who was feeling alone right now.

_We needn't be alone, though_ , he thought. _Whatever time is left to us, we can spend it together._

"Piccolo?" Again, Pan's voice jarred him from his thoughts.

"What?" He made a show of snarling in annoyance, but he knew that she was picking up on his thoughts and could hear the underlying affection in his voice.

"Is there… anything you would like me to tell him, when I see him again?"

Piccolo hesitated for a second, then another. "Tell him… I'm keeping my promise."


End file.
